Fur and Feathers
by LoyaulteMeLie
Summary: Damage to Enterprise necessitates a search for the materials for repairs, but the members of the landing party find more than they expect...
1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note: Very many thanks to Distracted, who kindly offered to beta me through this story and without whose inspiration and patient guidance it wouldn't exist in its present form.**

**Introduction: This story begins after 'The Breach' in Season 2 and goes AU after that.**

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><p><strong>Chapter 1<strong>

"I don't like the idea of it either, Cap'n. But we need that material. Can't guarantee the plating will hold till we get back to Jupiter Station otherwise – and if it doesn't..." Commander Charles 'Trip' Tucker's voice trailed off. He didn't need to elaborate on the danger.

They'd been travelling through a largely uncharted but superficially non-hostile area of the quadrant when they'd fallen into some kind of energy distortion field. Fortunately, it was very narrow, and its effects were largely temporary. Humans suffered no more than headaches and nausea, though the fact that the captain's dog Porthos howled for an hour afterwards and Dr Phlox's Pyrithian bat went off her food for days suggested that some of its effects varied between species. At first they had all believed that although the experience had been unpleasant, they had survived it without damage. That was until a more detailed scan of the ship's systems had revealed that the hyrellanium plating that protected the ship's hydroponics area from stellar radiation had suffered minute but irreversible damage. The stresses inflicted on it by warp drive travel were slowly worsening the deterioration. Tiny cracks visible even to the naked eye were beginning to appear. It was only a matter of time – and not a long time – before the whole area was poisoned by radiation.

Naturally, they had stocks of hyrellanium in reserve, but the field had corrupted that as well. It was therefore a matter of urgency to find a replacement. They had begun checking out the nearer star systems for the necessary mineral deposits, but had had little success. Hyrellanium wasn't rare in the general scheme of things, but the thinness required for this particular job needed a good quality ore, and most of what they found was poor. Emergency measures had meant that some of the more precious denizens of the hydro area had had to be housed temporarily elsewhere; staff quarters had dozens of plants billeted on them and their life support settings amended accordingly – much to the displeasure and discomfort of the inhabitants. Some of the plants, however, were so delicate that moving them in the wrong season would be as fatal as irradiating them. The situation had been approaching critical point when a planet was finally discovered that possessed the requisite quality of hyrellanium deposits. Everyone breathed a sigh of relief.

Except that it was an inhabited planet – and its occupants were nowhere near advanced enough to be experimenting with space travel. In the ordinary way the ship would have avoided contact at all costs, fearing to interfere with their cultural development. Scans suggested that the people who lived there didn't even mine for the mineral; perhaps they weren't aware of its properties, or had no use for them. Certainly there were limited uses to which it could be put inside the safety of an atmosphere. Quite possibly they would have been glad to trade it for something that might be of more use to them, but in view of the fact that as far as anyone knew they had never so much as put out a simple radio signal announcing their existence to the rest of the universe, their ability to cope readily with visitors from outer space turning up on their doorstep wanting to trade for their hyrellanium was hardly likely to be good. At worst any such irruption into their lives could be deeply damaging.

With a little luck and cunning, however, it would probably be possible to extract the ore the ship needed without announcing their presence. The deposits were so shallow in places that they were actually exposed to the air. Nevertheless, this action smacked strongly of theft. The conflict between his ship's plight and the distaste for descending to piracy sank a troubled frown between Captain Archer's brows.

"Wouldn't take long to get what we need," offered the commander persuasively. "It's not as though that one site's anywhere near a township or anythin'."

"I believe our scanners could establish a period when there were none of the inhabitants within a range that might risk our being discovered." As science officer, Sub-Commander T'Pol was the one most nearly involved, but she remained as cool as a cloud.

"I understand your reservations, Captain, but I think our options are limited." Lieutenant Malcolm Reed, _Enterprise_'s tactical and weapons officer, was leaning against a nearby bulkhead. "If it's a choice between causing all the cultural damage that introducing ourselves would do or of helping ourselves to a few tonnes of a material they don't appear to use themselves, I think the latter is the better of the two."

"Stealing," said Archer bleakly.

"Unfortunately, there would be very little that we have on board that would be of use to them as a trade," observed T'Pol. "Their cultural level is very different from ours."

The captain's frown took on a measure of resignation. He would not rule out theft if that was what it took to safeguard his ship, but he was a moral man. Many of the decisions and actions that the exigencies of life in Starfleet were forcing on him troubled him deeply. "Perhaps we could take a look first and see how the land lies," he conceded at last, perhaps not wishing to admit even to himself that he'd already decided that if they couldn't buy the hyrellanium he'd just have to authorise taking it without permission – 'stealing' it, in fact. "Just make sure we don't bump into any of the locals."

"There will be no difficulty in landing the shuttle in the area I have selected as the most suitable. The ground is very flat there. But we may have to beware of animal herds." The Vulcan consulted her PADD. "It would appear that there is a migration in progress. If we intend to use blasting we will need to take steps to clear the site."

"Won't be a problem," Trip said breezily. "Find the right frequency for a sonic broadcast and I'll have 'em galloping for the nearest horizon."

"Migration places severe demands on animals without adding unnecessary stress." T'Pol glanced at him rather frostily. "We should keep disruption down to a minimum."

"Darn sight less stressful gettin' their ears tickled than having a photonic torpedo land between 'em."

"We'll do exactly what we have to. No more, no less." Archer interrupted them ruthlessly. The air between his science officer and his chief engineer fairly crackled with tension these days, and their present exchange was coming perilously close to bickering. "I want that hyrellanium and I want it fast, but I don't want to cause a mass extinction down there. If the area's still clear of people we'll take a shuttle down – make it some time in the evening, so there's less chance of anyone seeing it by accident. But obviously we'll need enough light left to do a decent survey of the ground."

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><p><strong>All reviewscomments received with gratitude!**


	2. Chapter 2

It was fortunate that the location that had been chosen was at the position on the planetary revolution that corresponded reasonably well with ship time. It felt natural as they stepped out of the shuttle on to the plain that the sun should be sinking in the East, levelling the shadows of the long range of mountains there gradually but inexorably towards them.

The air was perfectly breathable, though it was laden with pollen that was shaken in clouds from the seeding grasses that stretched for miles in every direction but eastward. The smell of it was quite sweet, but it coated the tongue in a rather unpleasant way, not to mention necessitating frequent blinking. They would find when they returned to the ship that it stuck anywhere that was even faintly moist, so that traces of it clung to their eyelashes like unlikely yellow mascara.

T'Pol had been entirely correct in stating that the plain was part of a migration route. The grass, even drying up as it was now, was a vital resource for huge herds of grazers. Most of the nearest ones had been scared away by the arrival of the shuttle, but they had not gone very far. Once the engine note died, the eddies of consternation had done the same, and quite soon the boldest were returning to stare from what felt like a safe distance. They were a type of deer, the stags big-shouldered with massive racks of antlers, the hinds with smaller recurved horns and ceaselessly switching striped tails. Well-grown fawns gazed nervously from behind their dams' quarters. A hind with twins behind her had advanced nearer than the others, and stamped aggressively. Ensign Travis Mayweather, who had piloted the shuttle down, unclipped the phase pistol from his belt and held it loosely; he had no intention of killing the animal with it, but he had even less intention of allowing any of the landing party to be trampled.

"Seems like as good a time as any to find out what sort of frequency scares 'em off," remarked Trip, gazing around warily at the broad, curious faces. "I've already set it to what I think should work. Won't need much adjustment, with any luck." He had brought down a couple of sonic transmitters ready mounted on tripods, and he set the first carefully upright on the ground.

"Not too loud for the first try," advised Archer hastily.

"Got to make sure they hear it, Cap'n." He tapped a code into the keypad on the back of the transmitter.

"Wait!" Travis had been staring at a stand of thick grass a couple of meters away from where the feisty hind had come to a halt. "I think there's something..."

He was quite right. A second later an elongated body erupted from the grass and flung itself on to the hind. The youngsters swerved away and fled, bawling; the hind tried frantically to bolt forward, but something that was a mass of fur and muscle was clinging to it. The level sunlight flashed wickedly on a metal blade that plunged into the stretched neck and was jerked skilfully back, releasing a great spray of arterial blood. Choking and squealing piteously, the hind tottered forward towards the appalled landing party. It lurched to its knees, then tried to get up again, but the knife flashed a second time and the weight on its back bore it inexorably down into the red-spattered grass. With a final gasp it fell forward, dying. The predator on top of it looked up with jaws still locked on a ridge of muscle and stared menacingly at the strangers. There came an unmistakable hiss, half-smothered by the bloody hide.

It was no longer necessary to scare away the other deer: any in the immediate vicinity had fled, though the orphaned twins circled at a distance, bleating in distress. The prospect now was of being attacked by something large and ferocious defending a kill.

"Hell!" The predator was barely ten meters away, and at a guess could close that distance long before they could get to safety in the shuttle. The chief engineer hurriedly raised the power output. "Cover your ears!"

Travis winced, but disregarded the advice. He was carrying a phase pistol, and didn't intend to holster it until he was assured that the beast had a strong aversion to loud noises. Better a few hours of ringing in the ears than finding out too late that this particular foe just happened to be stone deaf.

Archer and T'Pol obeyed the advice. The Vulcan hurriedly replaced the scanner in her pocket, her finely-modelled face betraying some trepidation as she did so. She feared correctly that the noise level to come would be painful to sensitive Vulcan ears.

Even Trip winced as the wall of sound blasted out of the transmitter. The split second before he was able to protect his own ears made him wonder if he hadn't been a little over-enthusiastic about the volume. Mayweather's face was a study in pain, but he kept the phase pistol levelled towards the glaring eyes, though he clapped his free hand over one side of his head in the effort to limit the damage.

The chief engineer's assessment of the herd's intolerance for sounds at this frequency (and probably anything else at the current volume) was evidently correct. In one concerted bound any deer who had paused by then turned and fled: the effect was like a shockwave spreading out across the plain. Even the two youngsters galloped away to join the rest. The predator was also galvanised into action, but did not react in the way it was supposed to, joining the deer in a hasty retreat. Instead it narrowly escaped a reflex blast from the phase pistol as it erupted from its kill and leaped across the intervening space towards the landing party. They scattered, but it made no move to pursue any of them. Instead, it pounced on the transmitter and struck it one powerful swipe from a bare-clawed paw that lifted it off its tripod and hurled it – whether by accident or design – towards where Trip had skidded to a halt and stood staring.

Captain Archer retained enough capacity for thought to knock Travis's arm upwards to prevent him delivering a second blast at almost point-blank range that the predator certainly would not have escaped. In the first seconds, because his brain had no pre-programmed image of the creature, he could not see it properly – though atavistic warnings shrilled in recognition of the bared bloody teeth and claws. The claws, however, had been lashed at the transmitter, and the teeth were bared as much in pain as in rage; hands flew up to clap over flattened furry ears in an effort to protect them as the transmitter went on obdurately blasting, albeit on a slightly tinnier note than before. She – with shocked recognition he identified her gender – did not attack them, but stood her ground and yelled; the noise made sure that nothing she said was audible, but it took little ingenuity to imagine that it translated as 'Turn that damned thing off!'

He gestured to Trip and his officer obediently if rather reluctantly bent and switched off the transmitter, grimacing at the damage it had sustained. The sudden silence was like deafness. Archer watched the alien creature very warily indeed, slowly taking in the details of her appearance. The top half of a naked human female (and a very attractive half it was, if one could disregard the blood smeared across it) sat on the body of a lioness, like a feline centaur. Her fur was the same dark blonde color as her long head-hair, which was caught up into a number of untidy plaits, and merged well with the parched grassland all around them. If one went by the theory that felines on different planets will exhibit the same body language, this one certainly wasn't thrilled by their advent. Her tail was lashing, and she uncovered her ears slowly, shaking her head to make sure they still functioned. Nevertheless, she did not attack. As soon as the agonised glare had gone out of her inhuman eyes and the face smoothed out of its pain-rictus, a look of unmistakable curiosity appeared on it; the flattened ears came upright and she surveyed the four of them wonderingly. Her blood-speckled face was a strange mixture of human and feline: the eyes were triangular like a tiger's, matching the flattened nose with a damp, triangular tip. Then came the greatest surprise of all: she spoke. As she uttered one short, seemingly inquiring sentence, a pair of miniature carnivore incisors showed that her teeth fitted the rest of her leonine character, as did the whiskers that sprang from freckles along her cheekbones. Her voice was quite low and surprisingly pleasant in timbre, laced with deep gutturals. Naturally, they couldn't understand a word she said in it. Her left hand was still holding the knife she had used to open the hind's throat. With a significant glance around them all she cleaned the blade swiftly against her forequarter and sheathed it in a leather scabbard that hung where her upper body met her lower, deftly securing it with thongs to hold it in place.

The evidence was now too overwhelming to ignore. However brutal the scene they had just witnessed, she was acutely intelligent, had summed up the situation, and meant to convey that she intended them no harm.

Their own position was more than slightly awkward. Briefly and wrathfully the captain wondered how the ship's sensors had failed to pick up her presence. The only explanation he could imagine was that if she'd been seen, she must have been taken for just one of the predatory animals that must exist in any ecosystem. Now, however, it was apparent that she was very much more than that. They had tried to take the greatest care in avoiding the planet's inhabitants, and it seemed they'd put the shuttle down virtually on top of one of them. Furthermore, believing they would have no need for such a thing, they hadn't brought along any translation devices. Hoshi, like most of the crew, was averse in the extreme to using the transporter, and after she'd had such a bad experience during her one use of it he would be reluctant to give her a direct order to use it again, but the arrival of a second shuttle might too easily give the appearance of a hostile invasion, not to mention the fact that it would take time to organise and arrive. Thank God that in the confusion Travis had fired slightly wild; it would be the worst of all openings for their dealings with this world to have shot and injured the first person they came across.

"My name is Captain Jonathan Archer," he said slowly and clearly, gesturing to himself. Until they managed to rig up some kind of translation service, he could at least make a start by making polite introductions. He pointed at T'Pol, whose face was still creased with discomfort from the after-effects of the noise from the transmitter; perhaps introducing another female swiftly into the equation would be tactful. "Sub-Commander T'Pol. Commander Tucker. Ensign Mayweather."

The eyes blinked slowly, and the tip of a broad pink tongue appeared. She repeated their names without either hesitation or error, allowing for the pronunciation whose growled 'r' sounds rolled his surname into _'aRRRcherr'. _'T'Pol' naturally contained nothing that could be corrupted by that guttural, but the care with which it was articulated showed that the alien found this syllable combination difficult and it was pronounced almost as though the initial letter was followed by a snort. All of the vowels were either slurred or swallowed. Hoshi could have written a book about all this if she'd come down with them.

"Shiránnor," she said, pointing to herself. The word emerged almost as a long soft growl, only the 'a' sound pronounced distinctly.

"Pleased to meet you – Shirrannor." He extended his right hand, frowning a brief order to Travis to lower the pistol he still held cautiously levelled in her direction. Even if she accepted his gesture as an attempt to establish friendly relations, having a weapon pointed at her wasn't going to reassure her that the attempt was being made in good faith. She had sheathed the knife: they should reciprocate just in case she understood about guns even though she didn't possess one.

She studied his hand for a moment, frowning slightly as though trying to understand what he wanted. Then her brow cleared. She wiped her hands just as she had done the knife, and took hold of his hand with obvious care, unsure of how to complete the gesture. He noticed that instead of a nail she had a slot on top of each fingertip in which a claw was doubtless sheathed. In comparison to a human female's hand hers was slightly larger than average, with strong fingers. She closed her grip very, very lightly, careful not to damage or constrain him in any way. Moving slowly lest he interpret the action as predatory, she lifted his hand closer to her face and smelled it carefully. He saw her nostrils dilate, inhaling the scent of him. A trickle of sweat ran down his spine as he realised what those teeth could do to his flesh; this close to her he could smell the rank odour of the blood that covered her forepaws and much of the front of her body. He hadn't half the physical strength of that deer – one swipe from her paw could tear his guts open. She wouldn't even have to draw the knife to kill him.

For a moment they stood staring into each other's eyes. Hers were beautiful, he realised suddenly, full of gold flecks around the great well of darkness in the centre of each; he hoped his own hazel ones were as expressive of calm friendliness as he could make them.

Then, without a word, she raised her free hand towards his forehead. He resisted the instinct to flinch back, heard rather than saw Trip's equally instinctive lunge forward in his defence stilled within the first pace. "Cap'n!"

"It's OK." He spoke through a dry throat. The index finger that hovered a couple of centimeters from the space between his brows still had its claw sheathed; her clasp of his hand was still gentle, permitting him to draw away if he chose. Nevertheless, who knew what powers this alien creature had, or what she wanted to do to him?

"I believe she is waiting for your permission to proceed, Captain," T'Pol said, still cool, but tense and watchful as a leopard herself.

"Permission to do _what?_ You don't know what she wants." Tucker's blue gaze flickered between the alien and his captain, urgent and suspicious. "She could do anythin'."

"After the way we introduced ourselves, I think we owe her." Another glance at Travis. "Don't fire unless you have to."

"We'll do whatever needs doin'," Trip said grimly. He was perfectly well aware of the need to establish friendly relations with the 'natives', but if that was at the risk of his friend's life then it would always come second in his list of priorities. And the corpse of the hind bore mute but eloquent testimony to the fact that the captain was standing face to face with a killing machine.

For a long moment Archer hesitated. The lion-woman did not speak or move, but her bright eyes held his gaze steadily, with what he thought was a hint of challenge. She was not going to take his silence for submission and touch him. He had to make the move himself.

Trying to keep the tenseness of his body from increasing his already rapid heart rate still further, he concentrated as hard as he could on projecting a reassurance of their non-hostile intentions. He didn't know whether the contact she evidently wanted to establish with him was telepathic or whether it was simply a gesture of trust, but he was determined to be prepared just in case. A number of unpleasant possibilities about what he might be letting himself in for flitted through his thoughts, but standing here dithering wasn't going to achieve anything. Watching her intently in the hope that if she was about to spring a nasty surprise on him he might get even a fractional warning that way, he angled his head forward slowly until it met her fingertip.

The contact was surprisingly gentle. He found it difficult to describe afterwards – it was as though a wall within which he had always been contained turned to mist, and suddenly he was no longer alone. Instantly his fear dissolved: the presence in his head radiated an astonishing warmth and pleasure in the meeting. He found himself grinning in response to it like an idiot. _You are welcome to Kerriel, Captain Jonathan Archer._ The soft voice did not roll its R's, but it was shimmering with laughter. _I am pleased to meet with you._

"I'm sorry we got off to such a bad start, with the noise and all." He wasn't sure enough of his telepathic ability to try conversing in it; and besides, speaking aloud would keep his companions in the loop. "But you did kind of scare us."

_It was unfortunate – on both sides. But we can talk now._ She tilted her head to one side, much as Porthos did when he was trying to understand something that didn't involve lumps of Cheddar cheese. _I do not think your kind have been here before._

"No. We're from another world – we're explorers, travelling among the stars. We want to make contact with other species. We came here because our –" he paused, trying to picture it clearly in his mind for her – "our spaceship had an accident. We need a mineral that your world has, to do the repairs. I don't think your people use it, so we were planning to take what we need." He colored slightly, realising that he was basically admitting to have planned large-scale theft. Regardless of whether the material was used here or not, it wasn't his to take. Nevertheless, he knew that there was nothing he couldn't tell this woman that she wouldn't understand. "We'd have preferred to ask, of course. But we have nothing we could offer in exchange."

_It would certainly have been courteous to have asked first. But I understand why you did not. You do not wish to cause fear, I think._

"Partly." He nodded. "But we try not to interfere with the way cultures develop on other worlds. As far as we could tell when we got here, your culture hasn't gotten around to trying to contact other species or going into space. So we prefer not to show ourselves."

_So. Perhaps you are wise. But we would have been pleased to welcome you if things had fallen out differently._

"Do you own this land?" he asked. Since 'First Contact' had been made – however accidentally – it seemed that there might, after all, be a chance to leave pleasant impressions behind. Even if the lion-woman's civilisation wasn't yet interested in stellar exploration for themselves, it would do no harm to leave, after a fashion and in the right hands, a calling-card from Earth that future generations might care to pick up.

Unmistakably, she twinkled. _I do not think the land would acknowledge my ownership, nor that of anyone else. But I have the authority to permit you to remove the mineral you require. I do not know what it is worth if we do not use it, but you are an honourable man. It is a duty among us to give to those who have no means of payment, and therefore I will give you what you need – as a gift from a friend._

"Thank you," he said, flushing again at the compliment. The slow lowering of her eyelids was the equivalent of a nod of acceptance. She released him and stepped back, but he was a little disconcerted to find that he could still sense her. It appeared that physical contact wasn't necessary once a telepathic bond had been created; perhaps that first touch was how it was established.

"Everythin' OK, Cap'n?" Naturally the rest of the landing party had only been able to hear one side of the conversation. That (and his expressions) had been reassuring, but Trip seemed unable to focus on anything further than those claws and teeth until he had the rest of it chapter and verse.

"Fine. Absolutely fine. We can have the hyrellanium." Archer smiled at Shiránnor, whose tongue-tip peeped out of her mouth again in her own version of the expression.

_Your friend has no need to fear. As you trust them, so do I trust them. If you had not earned my trust and deserved it, things would have been different._

"Different?" He cocked an eyebrow. "As in how, different?"

_I would have killed you all._

Oh. He swallowed slightly. The reply was so blithely given that for a moment it almost hid the fact that she was absolutely serious. Incredible as it seemed, that small movement of his head had literally saved their lives. Travis had certainly had the phase pistol ready, and he might have been able to get off a blast if things had gone wrong, but certainly for Archer himself it would have come too late, and it was questionable whether a pistol set to stun for human physiology would have had enough power to disable her sufficiently to allow the rest of them to escape. There was no indication that her statement was an empty boast; maybe she didn't have to resort to such a crude method as a knife if she could reach into the control centre of the brain.

_You would do the same to protect your ship, if it was necessary._

"I wouldn't kill four innocent people if I could help it."

_Nor would I. That is why you are still alive, and why you will leave in safety with your mineral._

At the phrase 'kill four innocent people', obviously referring to themselves, the others reacted in their different ways. Travis took a firmer grip again on the phase pistol, the look on his face showing that he was prepared to use it if he had to; Trip immediately stepped in front of T'Pol, whose expression suggested that she was perfectly capable of looking after herself, thank him very much.

"No – no, it's OK." The captain shook his head. "But it wouldn't have been if we hadn't been decent people."

"Oh. Fine." Trip stepped away again as if surprised to find that he'd been directly in front of the glowering Vulcan. "So she's givin' us permission to take the hyrellanium?"

"She's giving it to us as a gift – between friends."

"Generous folks, aren't they?" He surveyed the lion-woman admiringly. Now that the threat of the teeth and claws had been removed, other attributes were becoming more apparent to him. If one could ignore all the blood and the furry bottom half, the shapely top half was pretty nice looking.

_Your friend is drawing comparisons._ Fortunately, she sounded more amused than affronted. _He does not yet realise who his Goddess is. He seeks Her in the wrong places. _

"His 'Goddess'...?"

_He will know in due course. _Perhaps it was just an accident that she was looking at T'Pol as she said it.

The conversation was getting into surprisingly deep waters. If Shiránnor had already detected a development that he as the ship's captain had made the most strenuous efforts to avoid becoming suspicious of, then he was conscious of dismay. Shipboard romances were discouraged, even if both parties were willing; and if Trip were indeed developing feelings for the distant and sometimes prickly T'Pol, the consequences of it could be both far-reaching and damaging for themselves, for the ship, and for Starfleet in general, not to mention for relations between Earth and Vulcan.

At that moment his communicator chirped. He removed the device from his pocket and flicked open the metal grille. "Archer."

"Everything OK down there, Captain?" Lieutenant Malcolm Reed's clipped English tones came from the device, to Shiránnor's evident surprise and amusement. Her tongue came out even further.

"All's well. But – well, I'll fill you in on it later." If he began to try to describe the lion-woman, Malcolm would think he'd been surreptitiously swigging contraband Klingon bloodwine.

"Just that the sensors report that storm we saw earlier is brewing up quicker than we expected, sir. You might want to take shelter pretty soon. I think it might be a bit rough to try flying for a while." And indeed the wind had been rising steadily, and blew in hot gusts across the plain; a bank of cloud was pushing up from the south, with rags tearing off and flying ahead of it like birds of ill-omen.

_You are welcome to share my shelter if you wish. My kill will wait until the storm has passed; scavengers fear the thunder. These autumn storms are fierce, but they do not last long. And I have realised that it is impolite of me to maintain contact with you in this way; it invades your privacy. I will leave you now. _Suddenly her presence in his mind was abruptly withdrawn, and he almost cried out with the nearly physical sense of loss.

"I've got an idea, Captain," said Travis eagerly. "We could get Hoshi to transport a universal translator down to us!"

"What – ? Oh. Yeah." He dragged his scattered thoughts together with an effort. His initial reaction to the suggestion – a stab of surprisingly bitter disappointment – he swallowed with some difficulty. "Malcolm? Did you copy that?"

"Loud and clear, Captain. I'll get on to it straight away." Reed's tone sharpened as he realised the implications of the request. "You've met one of the inhabitants?"

"Not much other reason to need a translator," Archer replied wryly. "I don't know how it happened, but it looks like it's a good thing, anyway. We've had an offer of shelter out of the rain, for one thing."

"Oh. Excellent. Well, I'll get the translator down to you."

"Make it snappy. I think it's going to get damp around here fairly soon." He closed off the com-link and surveyed the advancing cloud-bank. It wasn't just the fading light that made those sullen anvils so threatening. Blue threads of lightning lanced among the roiling mounds; grey columns of rain were sweeping forward like an invading army underneath them.

In ordinary circumstances the four of them would have retreated to the cramped confines of the shuttle to wait out the storm, but having a lion-woman sharing it with them would make it downright over-cozy. He turned back to her. "You say you have shelter?"

_Not far away. _The voice echoed in Archer's head, unbearably remote. She pointed to a jumble of rocks a few yards distant.

"You hide under _rocks?_" Trip's incredulity was palpable. Likewise his intention to refuse to share any shelter that comfortless; the shuttle might be small and basic, but it was waterproof.

_Insects hide under rocks, Commander Tucker. _His captain grinned a little wanly at the way the chief engineer's eyebrows climbed; from what Shiránnor had said, he guessed that her contact with him had opened connections to his crew's minds too. T'Pol frowned, obviously wondering what was going on.

Malcolm had worked fast. Within a few seconds the translator shimmered into view on the dry, hammered earth.

_I think we had best make haste. _The cloud was almost on them now. A few hundred metres away the herds which had come to a halt in that direction stood immobile, heads lowered in glum resignation, as within seconds their tawny hides became sleek with rain.

"Lead the way. Please." It really wasn't likely that she was inviting them to hide in a pile of stones in a storm like this one. At any rate, refusing her hospitality – however rudimentary – would hardly be gracious. A soaking would be a small price to pay for permission to harvest that hyrellanium.

She nodded and turned away. Travis scooped up the translator and began fiddling with the settings as he followed her. Archer would have followed as well, but Trip caught at his arm.

"Cap'n, do we know we can trust her?"

"Yes." The reply was curt.

"Captain." T'Pol was on his other side. Her great brown eyes were serious. "We do not know these people. I presume she contacted you telepathically. Can you be sure she has not impaired your judgement?"

"Yes. I'm sure." Even curter. "Now you two may want to stand out here and get struck by lightning, but frankly, I don't. And even if I did, I want that hyrellanium and I'm not going to offend the person who's offered to let me take it."

"If she gets all four of us in there, there might be a lot more at stake than hyrellanium," hissed Trip. "You saw what she did to that deer back there! And I still don't know how the scanner didn't pick her up. She's not exactly insignificant."

"No, she's not insignificant. And we're going to follow her because I trust her. And you can treat that as an order!" He turned on his heel and strode after Shiránnor.

"Goddamn," muttered Tucker, looking after him. "If I didn't know better..." He glanced at his Vulcan companion, who raised one flyaway eyebrow in shared, if mute, concern.

"Starfleet regulations provide clear guidance on the actions to be taken if a senior officer becomes mentally impaired," she said in a low voice.

"I think we'd better bear 'em in mind. And in the meantime if we don't wanna be court-martialled _or_ struck by lightnin', we'd best follow orders."

"Agreed."

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><p><strong>All reviewscomments received with gratitude!**


	3. Chapter 3

**Many thanks to Tahmtahm for the reviews!**

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><p><strong>Chapter 3<strong>

The silver lances of the rain were thudding into the earth at their heels by the time they reached the boulders. Unseen around the corner of the pile, a dark entranceway showed between two of them. It was not tall, but by stooping a little they could get in. The captain and Ensign Mayweather had already entered; their footsteps were audible, and a little way further on there was a glimmer of light. The presence of such a hiding place among lumps of what they now realised was high quality hyrellanium ore went some way towards explaining how the scanners had failed to detect the alien's presence: if she had been inside, she would effectively have been shielded from their scanners in the same way that the hydro area was protected from stellar radiation. Dense objects such as metal would still be visible, but flesh and blood would not. It meant that if they went in and for some reason couldn't get out again the _Enterprise_ would be unable to detect them either. It was not a reassuring thought. Unfortunately, it was not one to which it seemed likely that Captain Archer would be receptive.

"This feels really wrong," muttered Trip, pausing. He glanced back at the slain deer, still dimly visible in the growing gloom; the whole thing felt as if the four of them were walking blithely and blindly into a lion's larder. He took hold of T'Pol gently by one arm so that he could go in first and protect her whether she liked it or not, but suddenly the small piquant face that turned indignantly up to his took on a whole new meaning for him. The first hard splats of the rain hit both their faces, and in another world the rain was gushing from a shower head down on to them both while their naked bodies clung and twined like frenzied snakes and their starving mouths shared kisses passionate enough to bruise.

He blinked back to the present and reality, and realised to his horror that the brief, inexplicable hallucination had had a predictable effect on his body. Her gaze held nothing but frosty annoyance over his repeated treatment of her like some feeble Human female who needed protection. Wherever that incredibly erotic image had come from, she certainly hadn't shared it – a fact that was as much a relief as a disappointment. On the one hand, it hadn't come from her (which was a disappointment). On the other hand, she couldn't blame it on him if she didn't know about it (which was a relief). She was mad enough about his chivalrous impulses to protect her. Hell knew what she'd find to say if she thought he'd somehow gotten around to projecting his sexual fantasies about her into her head.

Now it was _absolutely vital_ that he precede her into the low tunnel before her eyes dropped to the sudden and stark change in the outline of his uniform. The alternative was to follow her into it, and while he was no more averse than any other red-blooded male member of the crew to getting a close-up view of her delectable rear-end, at that moment he could hardly trust himself not to make a grab that would probably wreck his career in Starfleet, let alone cause an interplanetary diplomatic scandal of unimaginable proportions. Right now he would have been unutterably grateful if half a dozen Klingon warriors had suddenly materialised out of the gloom: at least that would have disposed of his problem fast enough. As he stumbled forward crouching into the semi-darkness his mind whirled in search of excuses he could use for not straightening up as soon as he rejoined the others. Hell, it wasn't as though he'd never noticed that T'Pol had a body to die for, but she was a _Vulcan_, for Chrissake. Report had it that Vulcans only had sex every seven years and then only with their Vulcan mate. Desire a Human? Hardly goddam likely, he thought with a despair that ate into him like acid. Jonathan Archer had slowly earned her chilly respect, but Charles Tucker III seemed to fall foul of her almost every time they spoke. Lately it seemed to be getting worse rather than better. Some days her attitude towards him suggested she saw him less as a Human than as some kind of troglodyte. She was about as likely to share a shower with him as Shran was. Less, probably. He concentrated desperately on the revolting thought of sharing a shower with the blunt and bellicose Andorian instead, in the hope that it might cure his misfortune. It helped, but not enough.

Luck was with him. The tunnel was not long – perhaps five meters – but it ended in a carved out stone chamber that strongly resembled the empty lair of some kind of animal. It was floored with clean soft sand, and smelled sweet enough, but it was not tall enough to stand in with any comfort. The light from a couple of wax-lights in shallow bowls balanced on a ledge showed that their hostess had lain down to one side of it. The captain was sitting down close to her, leaning back against the wall, and Travis was beside him, still working on the translator settings. Trip seized his opportunity and sat down almost immediately, drawing up his knees as T'Pol followed him in, offering silent, fervent thanks to whatever saint was the patron of sex-starved engineers that nobody appeared to have noticed the unusual bulge in his coveralls as he shuffled in. It was unfortunate, though probably wholly predictable, that T'Pol stalked right past him, giving him a close-up of her curvaceous rear that brought back the sensation of his hands clamped around it. He clamped his hands on his knees instead and stifled a groan of desire as she sat down considerably and ostentatiously closer to the lion-woman than he was himself.

"Would you mind just saying something, ma'am?" Mayweather spoke politely to Shiránnor, pointing the translator in her direction. She tilted her head again, surveying the machine. Apparently understanding what was required, she spoke good-humouredly towards it. For a couple of seconds they all heard nothing but meaningless syllables, but Hoshi had spent endless hours improving the programming. Then, "... I Shiránnor welcome you in the Name of the Goddess and permit you use of my hunting grounds according to the Law." Her head tilted to the other side as she heard the words emerging from the translator, and unmistakably she chuckled. "By the One!"

"Now we can have a real conversation." The captain turned towards her. Perhaps it was the flickering, uncertain light of the lamps that made his face now appear a little strained. "Would you mind if we asked you some questions?"

"Ask anything you wish." She began loosening the plaits into which her hair was caught, but looked at him with interest.

"Um ... is this your home?"

"Not a permanent one!" she chuckled. Her accent was still strangely guttural, but not unpleasant on the ear. "I dwell in a house, as all my people do. But at present I am travelling a little, and in such circumstances a _lagyaar's_ lair is a home no Skair will refuse." In response to the look of polite incomprehension, she explained that a 'lagyaar' was a very large lizard whose powerful forelegs enabled it to burrow into fissile rock; in the spring the pair to whom this nest belonged would return to it to breed, but at this season they had no use for it. "When the herds have passed on I will be on my way again, but it seemed too good a chance to miss, to put on a little weight against the cold cycles. I was awaiting my chance when you arrived. It was not that I was not curious as to what you were, but that _kefyu_ coming so close was an opportunity that I could not resist."

"You were hunting the deer when we arrived?" asked Mayweather curiously. "Alone? With just a knife?"

"My knife. My teeth. My claws." She stretched out her forelegs, and a set of long, curved talons slid silently into view. "I need nothing more. And most of my people hunt alone. We are not – friendly – when we get the first taste of fresh blood. We cannot help ourselves. It is just the way we are made." She glanced acutely at T'Pol. "I would normally wash after killing; my state offends you. It is not mannerly in me to offend a guest. Will you trust me enough to remain while I clean myself? I will go only as far as the entrance. You have nothing to fear, I give you my word on that."

"Of course." They watched her rise and pad towards the entrance. Trip pulled his feet in a little further to allow her to pass him easily. Still slightly suspicious, he turned his head to watch her leave. True to her word she did not go out of sight, but stopped immediately outside the entrance and lifted her head to the pouring rain. The flashes of lightning lit up her blonde coat as stark whiteness against the blackness of the clouds. It did not take more than a moment or two for her to be completely soaked. The dark stains drained away into the puddles around her paws. When she stepped back into the mouth of the tunnel she shook herself exactly as a dog does, and squeezed her hair to get rid of most of the water in it. Evidently, she did not use a towel. She padded back into the cave, her fur standing in points, but clean. The smell that had been so offensive to a Vulcan's acute olfactory sense was gone, rinsed away by the downpour.

"So where will you go afterwards? To the city?" Travis took up the conversation again when she had resumed her original comfortable position. Their scanners had identified a city of some size further eastward, on the coast.

"Perhaps. My mind is not yet made up. I had not intended to come this way – I was on my way to the Goddess's Temple after my mother died, but it came to me that I had seen nothing of the world at large. It would not be fitting to take up service and then leave it again. So – you see me here." She looked at Archer, who had been listening intently. "Perhaps the Good Goddess had Her own plans laid, after all." Outside the thunder cracked and rolled; the draught from the entrance made the lamp flames dip and waver.

"I'm sorry about your mother," the captain said gently.

"It was her time to go. She was old, and we had been very happy together. But it is never easy to lose those one loves." Her eyes travelled for no obvious reason to Trip, and then to T'Pol. "The chief thing is to make the most of what blessings the Goddess sends when they come to you. Happiness is too brief to be wasted."

"Your father is dead also?" asked the Vulcan, who had been unobtrusively examining the readout on the scanner which she had removed from her belt and aimed at the lion-woman.

"I had no father. My people do not have males. We are born pregnant."

All three men stared at her. Even T'Pol spared an intent glance upward from her scanner. "Correct. You are indeed pregnant," she confirmed levelly.

"My daughter will not be born for many years yet," she said with a smile. "She is alive, but sleeping."

"So you don't have a husband either?" demanded Tucker incredulously. "Don't ya – well, isn't it kinda lonely?"

"Skaira do not readily feel lonely." She was looking at the Captain again. "We too are called to 'walk among the stars'; not as you do, of course, but as creatures born to the service of the Goddess. Our lives do not permit us to enjoy the warmth and kinship that other of this world's peoples do. It is a high calling and a great honour, but often those who tread such heights must do so alone. And not all find the path free of stones."

"True." Archer's gaze dropped briefly, and then lifted again. "But perhaps they shouldn't expect it to be easy."

"Those who expect it to be easy will find it unendurable."

He nodded almost imperceptibly. "True."

"May I, in my turn, ask a question?" She had finished unbraiding her hair, and stared around at her guests with open curiosity.

"Of course."

"You are explorers, you said. You travel among the stars. We know nothing of such exploring on this world. What is it like, to do this?"

The four of them exchanged rather quizzical glances at the enormity of the question. All four of them had been born into a world that took space exploration for granted.

"I'd have to know where to start," said Archer slowly. "Do you have a science of astronomy here?"

"Perhaps not what you would call a science. We watch the stars, of course. We marvel at their beauty. We try to understand as best we may how they fit into the Creation. Our best thinkers have come to the belief that our sun is at the centre of a great sphere and its worlds travel around it inside that sphere. The only place we have ever found for stars is fixed upon that sphere. When you said at first that you were from another world, I believed that you were from one of the other worlds that belong to our sun; but then you said you travel among the stars. If they are not fixed upon the sphere, where are they fixed?"

Archer exhaled. Going into the details of astrophysics with someone whose ideas about the nature of the universe were this primitive would probably take up several years. Still, he had to tell her something. The question was, how much. Once again he thought uneasily that Starfleet definitely should have guidance on what sort of information could and should be shared.

"They aren't fixed anywhere," he said slowly. "They're floating in space – sort of the way clouds do in the atmosphere." (T'Pol raised a censorious eyebrow at this gross mutilation of the facts, but refrained from comment.) "Your sun is a star. Lots of the stars you see up in the sky at night have worlds around them with people living on them. We've come out to introduce ourselves to anybody who wants to be friendly."

"And a whole lot of people who don't," muttered Trip, _sotto voce_.

"You said 'your sun', not 'our sun'. You are indeed not, therefore, from one of our sister worlds?"

"No. Our sun is a long, long way from here."

"Is it one of those among the Great Dance?" She saw from their puzzled expressions that the term meant nothing to them. "When we look up into the sky at night, we see a great cloud of stars. It has always seemed to us that they look as though they are dancing together, and therefore that is what we call it."

"I believe she refers to Globular Cluster NGC 6121, Captain." T'Pol's qualification was strictly accurate, but certainly not poetic.

"'NGC 6121'?" Shiránnor looked at first incredulous, then vastly amused. "That was the best name that the dreamers among you could devise for such beauty?"

"Dreamers do not make good scientists." The Vulcan's tone was slightly chilly. The suggestion was absurd and illogical. "And beauty has no bearing upon the matter."

"We also call it Messier Object 4," said Archer diplomatically, hiding a grin. "But whatever any of us call it, it is beautiful, I agree."

"'Messy Objects and meaningless numbers!" She didn't bother to hide her grin at all. "I think you can keep both your namings. I prefer our 'Great Dance'!"

"Well, each to their own," said Trip, with a mischievous sideways glance at T'Pol's barely-concealed disapproval; this blithe disregard for science evidently didn't sit too well with Vulcan sensibilities.

"We don't come from it, though," interposed Travis, smiling. "And we haven't visited it yet – though we may one day."

"You must have a marvellous ship, to make such a voyage. I shall pray that she will return safely to her home port when the voyage is done."

"Thank you. Her name is _Enterprise_." Unconsciously the captain's hand moved towards the badge on the upper left arm of his uniform. "Actually we're pretty proud of her ourselves."

The chief engineer, who had naturally been sitting next to the doorway, craned his head back into the tunnel. There should still be a little daylight left according to his chronometer, but the weight of cloud cover was making it seem more like night out there in the brief intervals between the flares of lighting shattering it. He was a little surprised that the rainwater wasn't coming down the slope, but the entrance had been carefully sited to be in the lee of the prevailing winds. Outside the rain fell in torrents, and the lightning strikes had already decreased the temperature. He wondered a little apprehensively if the shuttlepod would be OK. It was strong enough to cope with most things, but the bolts were falling in an almost ceaseless stream, and being made of metal (not to mention being the tallest thing for some distance) it would attract them. Perhaps it was just as well that they hadn't taken shelter in it after all – although it was fully insulated and they would have been safe enough, it would hardly be an ideal sanctuary in a barrage of billion-volt strikes. He couldn't imagine any other threat to it. The deer were hardly likely to have the interest to spare, even if they enjoyed being frazzled by lightning strikes; and it was pretty unimaginable that anyone else would be just wandering around up there in such a storm. Still, they hadn't secured the shuttle door, and that worried him – just in case anyone _was _wandering around up there in defiance of all sense... and at least having that to think about was taking his mind off T'Pol. "D'you think the shuttle will be all right, Cap'n?" he asked uneasily.

"I can't imagine anyone out in _that_ having the interest to spare."

A fresh cannonade of thunder seemed to add point to the calm reply, but Travis looked up in concern. Since he was the pilot, the shuttle was his particular responsibility. "Want me to go check, Commander?"

"You will encounter few people out here on the plains save the occasional traveller. And they would hardly be journeying at night, in such weather. But nobody would touch your vessel even were they to find it," said Shiránnor placidly. "They would not dare."

Trip turned back again and stared at her. "Because it's so strange to them?"

"Because we have a short way with thieves on our world. Emperor Vede'hanax has seen to that."

"Your civilisation rules by violence?" T'Pol's voice was at its driest. Even Archer had drawn away a little, his lips compressed.

"If your world has known dishonesty and outgrown it, you are not moral. You are simply fortunate." Her faint smile was wry. "We are not yet so fortunate. Three peoples co-exist on this world; some eschew violence in all its forms, others lack the means to protect themselves and their families. Though we have done our best to make our society as fair as we may, there will always be those who desire to better themselves at the expense of others. Therefore Vede'hanax rules with a hard hand, lest those who would obey for no other reason feel free to prey on those whom they perceive as weaker than themselves."

"This – Vedehanax – rules your whole world? By force?" The captain was rapidly revising his thoughts of the encounter being a good thing. The lion-woman herself might have won his absolute trust, but he was appalled by her apparent approval of the rule of a tyrant. He didn't want to risk extraterrestrial technology falling into the hands of what sounded like the worst form of dictatorship.

"Not by force, no – unless all other means fail; in the last resort, he must do whatever he must to preserve the peace and enforce the Law. He rules through his subject kings," she answered, still serene. "They are answerable to him, and he is answerable to the God. It has been thus for as long as long as our histories remember. It is not an ideal world, but by and large it is a peaceful one."

"And he believes that? That he's answerable to ... God?"

"He _knows_ that."

"And what if his ...God... tells him to act in an immoral way?" asked Archer, choosing his words with some care. Earth's history had enough instances of religion bending to accommodate the moral codes of tyrants rather than having any moderating influence on them; the phrase 'Gott mit uns' had appeared on the uniform belts of Nazi soldiers in the second World War.

Shiránnor's face creased in puzzlement. "Why should the God tell him such a thing?"

"Well... I don't know. Perhaps he thinks the God wants him to get rid of his enemies by any means he can."

"The God would not want him to do that. It would violate the Law that the Gods themselves gave us. It would not make sense."

"And does everyone on your world obey this law?"

"Most people. Most of the time. There are always exceptions, but they are few. And those few know what fate they may expect if they are caught." She looked suddenly directly at the captain. "Your civilisation may have outgrown dishonesty, but perhaps you are still closer to us than you would like to think. You too have a _lathaichan _among those who owe you fealty." Seeing him frown over the title, she hesitated over a translation. "A lathaichan ... a man who commands and leads those whose trade is fighting. A warlord." A pause. Her brow furrowed a little. "He fears for your safety."

A 'warlord'...?..._Malcolm!_ It occurred to the captain in that moment, as it had to Trip earlier, that Reed would have been monitoring events from the bridge, and that if this rock contained enough dense hyrellanium ore the landing party could have disappeared from the sensors as soon as they entered the cave. Quite probably the ore was strong enough to deflect the communications signals, too. He'd been told that they had been offered shelter, but the nature of it hadn't been mentioned; he'd probably think that it was some kind of tent, in which case the scanners should still have been able to pick up their bio-signs. All that Hoshi's scans would be able to pick up would be the metal of their instruments. If that was the case, the lieutenant would be frantic. The second shuttle couldn't be risked in a storm like this, but he could too easily imagine Reed racing to the transporter with a couple of armed security crewmen to brave the suicidal descent through that maelstrom of supercharged cloud outside. "Trip! Get up to the entrance and contact Malcolm. He's probably been trying to raise us!" He looked back incredulously at the lion-woman. She'd been able to detect his tactical officer in the Enterprise, kilometers up in orbit? Just how far did this telepathy of hers stretch?

"Damn, he must think somethin' swallowed us!" With a look of guilty horror Tucker jumped back to his feet and hurried up to the entrance, grabbing his communicator as he went. "Tucker to _Enterprise_?" His voice floated back. "Malcolm? No, we're fine..."

T'Pol had lowered the scanner and was leaning forward, watching Shiránnor intently. "How did you know about Lieutenant Reed?" she demanded. Mayweather looked on in equal amazement.

"It was not difficult," said Shiránnor simply. In the flickering lamplight the great pupils of her eyes were very dark and fathoms deep. "Your captain showed me his ship. He is proud of it; he loves those who serve on it. You should not think that because Skaira must kill like any beast of the jungle that we have no other abilities."

"Everything's fine now, Cap'n." Trip ducked back into the cave. "Just as well we got in touch, though. Malcolm was gettin' a little worried 'bout us." He sat down again, looking more cheerful now that the distractions of the past few minutes had disposed of his embarrassing problem. "And he says the storm'll be over in half an hour or so."

"They do not last." Shiránnor nodded. "The rain will refresh the grass, and the beasts will have good eating for a while as they travel. It is as the Gods have ordained." She looked around at her visitors with interest. "Do your Gods not do the same for you?"

The captain coughed. It was a rather awkward question. Religion was personal to so many different cultures, and even Earth and Vulcan differed strongly in their religious beliefs. He did not know much about the Vulcan attitude to 'the Divine'. Although they had temples that were thousands of years old he had some doubt as to what or whom (if anything) was worshipped there. A glance at T'Pol showed her wearing her most determinedly uncommunicative expression; he knew that many Vulcans harboured reservations, if not doubts, about their civilisation's ancient belief in the existence of the soul or _katra_ as a separate entity. Whether or not she was one of these sceptics, she was unlikely to feel it appropriate to discuss her people's spiritual beliefs with any chance-met alien.

He himself held somewhat ambivalent views about the existence of a 'God' as such. His reading had shown him how much harm religious groups had inflicted on Earth and their fellow-men during the centuries; the evidence for the existence of such a Supreme Being was thin. Nevertheless, it was true that sometimes even he had had the fleeting intimation of Wordsworth's "sense sublime"...

'Of something far more deeply interfused,

Whose dwelling is the light of setting suns,

And the round ocean and the living air,

And the blue sky, and in the mind of man';

but it was hardly enough with which to make a strong case for religion, and certainly not enough to make much sense to a person for whom the God-experience was evidently personal and profound. "Our race tends to require evidence before we believe in things like Gods," he replied, firmly but a little ruefully. "And so far I don't think the case for our world adds up."

"You feel that the non-existence of evidence is evidence of non-existence?" she said with a grin, evidently quite unoffended by his honesty. "Well, it may be so. But it may also be that the God – or Goddess – of your world chooses to remain hidden. And if your peoples choose to act as though He or She does not exist, He or She is even less likely to manifest. What would be the use?"

"I think the fact that big claims have been made for them in the past that haven't been borne out have tended to make people stop believing in them. Some people persist, but most..." For a moment the absolute improbability of the situation struck Archer almost like a blow to the head. In all of his preparations for encountering alien species, none of it had ever included sitting in a cave discussing philosophy with a creature who was half-lion, half-woman and who evidently thought her world's affairs were directly overseen by divine entities. "And over our history, people who supposedly believed in God often made that the excuse for persecuting people who believed in a different God, or in no God at all," he went on hardily, now as much to himself as to her. "Personally, I'd rather a situation where everyone's free to believe or not believe in whatever they like – as long as they allow everyone else the same freedom."

"You would like to believe, I think," she said gently. "But in something genuine – and so far all you have seen has been false and damaging. I cannot blame you for your disappointment in these false Gods your world has worshipped; in your place I too would be angry, as you are angry. But I know what I know, and this is not your world. You will simply have to accept it as it is."

Archer was silent. Back on _Enterprise_, he had already acknowledged the need to leave behind preconceptions and grudges; perhaps religion was one of the fields where this was difficult for him to do. Maybe that difficulty meant it was important that he should try, at least in the present circumstances. And whether he 'believed' or not, Shiránnor certainly did. It was no part of his diplomatic duties to insult a newly-met civilisation's beliefs. Since leaving Jupiter Station he had grown painfully accustomed to being met with suspicion, if not downright hostility, by many of the aliens they encountered. Only here had he been met with an open pleasure that was like oxygen to a man who has hardly realised up till now that he has been slowly suffocating. For that, at least, he owed her something: if he couldn't manage belief, at least he could offer her respect.

T'Pol caught his eye. Her expression was faintly disapproving. Not only did she not share Shiránnor's theological opinions, but Vulcans believed that such matters were private. Moreover, she was bound to remind him when opportunity offered that almost all primitive cultures associated kingship with divinity. There was no reason whatsoever to imagine that this one was any different. Doubtless the lion-woman had remarkable powers of telepathy – she'd proved that beyond any doubt – but the rest of the story was nothing more than a hotchpotch of mythology that had survived for centuries because it had become the basis of a stable civilisation.

"I'm interested in what you've told us," he said at last. "And you're lucky to have something to believe in. But I think I'm going to keep an open mind on it for now."

"That is your absolute right," answered Shiránnor tranquilly. "And now, I am going up to eat. You are welcome to stay here until the storm has passed completely if you wish; but now that the worst of it is done the opportunists will be on the prowl again. Unless another kefyu is to die, which I think you would dislike, I must reclaim my kill. And afterwards, I feel it in my heart that I should be on my way. It is unlikely we will meet again, at least on this side of the Endless Ocean."

"It's still pouring out there!" Trip, who was still nearest the exit, could hear the susurration of the rain still hushing across the plain. "You'll be drowned!"

"It is only water. I will not be cold – my people do not readily feel the cold. And I have already gone longer than I should without meat." Suddenly she glanced at T'Pol with that dry humour again. "My people must drink blood or die; those who can live without the guilt of other creatures' deaths on their consciences are fortunate indeed."

She stood up gracefully. She was a little shorter than the humans, so she could stand upright beneath the low ceiling. "It is for the best, I think, that we should part now; and that you do not show yourselves to others on my world. Your ways of thought are too different from ours. Maybe a time will come one day when the gulf is less wide, but for now I do not know if anyone short of the Gods could bridge it without harm. I trust, nonetheless, that you will do your best to think of us gently as you leave."

"I'm extremely grateful for your understanding. And your generosity." Archer immediately stood up, too, although he had to stoop a little even under the tallest part of the roof. "I wish you could stay a little longer. There are many questions we'd have liked to ask you if the opportunity had been there."

"And I you." Her smile was a little wry. "It may be that one day you will be able to ask your questions, but if I were to bring my meal here and eat it before you I guarantee you would wish only to be gone. And that is only one of the differences that lie between us, and not by any means the greatest. It is best, I think, to part now. For many reasons."

"Perhaps you're right." Memory of her killing the deer was still raw. It was a working certainty that her meal wouldn't come served up neatly on china with a side dish of vegetables. And he had no right to force her to stay anyway, if she didn't choose to; but he still spoke reluctantly.

"Across the gulf, may we part as friends?" she asked.

"I'd be honoured." He inclined his head slightly. A faint smile crinkled the corners of his eyes.

"Your companions, also?" She looked around at them with a stare that for all its inhumanity had in it the directness and gallantry of a confident child.

"Of course, ma'am!" Mayweather was the first of them to scramble to his feet; he'd assumed that the offer of friendship was only for the captain. His lively, attractive dark face lit up with a smile that hers echoed at once. She stepped towards him and took his hands.

"I do not know your way of saying farewell between friends. So, if you will, because we are on _my_ world, we will do it as my people do." She leaned up, breathed gently into his face and rubbed cheekbones with him. "So. Go with my blessing."

Trip was next. He had the grace to look faintly sheepish after his earlier suspicions of her. "I am quite harmless to you and your friends after all, hmm?" she twinkled up at him. "Use your metal contrivance to scare away the deer before you begin mining for your mineral, if you will. But give me half a day to get away after I have eaten. One hearing of such a din is enough!"

"I'll be sure to." He grinned, and pushed his cheekbones playfully against hers. "Sure is a pleasure to have met you. And thanks for not eating us!"

"'Much effort, little meat', as my sisters would say!" she laughed back at him. "And the pleasure is mutual." She glanced from him to T'Pol, who had also risen politely but remained still and withdrawn. "Whether you accept it or not, daughter of T'Les, you too have my blessing," she said gently. "I will force no gesture on you that you would not wish."

"'Live long and prosper,'" replied the Vulcan quietly. She was more startled than she allowed herself to show by the soft use of her mother's name; the lion-woman's telepathic powers were truly remarkable. It was something to be very thankful for that she almost certainly had no interest in much of the knowledge that she could have accessed if she had been able to get so deep into Captain Archer's mind with so little apparent effort. A hostile entity could have learned things that could have made them very dangerous indeed to Starfleet. For all that this world's civilisation was backward in many respects, at least one of its peoples had abilities that many a more advanced culture would envy. A mind with such power had to have formidable intellectual capabilities, if only they were used in the right way. Had the Skaira been less entrenched in superstition, they might have conquered space flight centuries ago. When eventually they did outgrow their primitive dependence on what amounted to a theocracy, they would be a force to reckon with.

Finally Shiránnor turned back to Archer. "I will think of you, journeying among the stars." She placed her hands on his shoulders and looked intently at him again, and he felt the touch of a deep and unexplained concern. _I am not permitted to remain linked to you after you leave here. But if your loneliness becomes too great, remember that I remain your friend. _Her face tilted up to his, and touched the moist tip of her nose to his very lightly; her breath was sweet, and the ends of her whiskers tickled his skin for an instant. Then she rubbed cheekbones with him just as she had with Trip and Travis. "Go with the God, Jonathan Archer – whatever you conceive Him to be."

Then she released him, swung a last smile around them all and padded to the entrance. "The rain will pass very soon now," she said gaily, looking back just once. "Do not leave without your mineral!" And then she was gone.

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><p><strong>All reviewscomments received with gratitude!**


	4. Chapter 4

Thanks to Tahmtahm for the reviews!

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><p>The Shuttlepod returned to the site with its passengers early the next morning. They were determined to make the most of the daylight, this planet having a relatively short revolution as well as being currently rotating this particular continent towards the shortening hours of autumn.<p>

The clouds had passed, and the rain had soaked into the dry earth and refreshed the grass. The herds were still moving slowly southward across the plain, grazing as they went; the arrival of the shuttle again caused an eddy of alarm, but the imperatives of eating and moving were too strong to be disrupted for long. Another month and the cold winter wind would scour the land bare. The few creatures who lived here permanently would settle down to long months of semi-starvation, of which they might or might not live to see the end.

There was still some work to do on mapping the site before extraction could begin. As the ship's explosives expert (who had never quite outgrown a boyish passion for blowing things up), Lieutenant Reed would be in charge of the final stages of the blasting operation, but he was in the middle of an important tactical simulation in the armoury. This had been scheduled to take place some days earlier, but the urgency of the search for the hyrellanium had led to it being postponed. Now, with the ship in orbit around a peaceful planet in a deserted solar system and a day of enforced idleness to fill while the ore was extracted, it had seemed an ideal opportunity to get it over and done with. Malcolm had therefore deputed the task of planning the siting of the explosive charges to one of his more trusted seconds, Ensign Neill McKenna, a tow-haired, serious, rather self-effacing individual whose lilting tones betrayed his origins in the misty green isle where his parents still lived. His regular and faithful transmissions home were the subject of some good-natured twitting among the crew, which he accepted with the benign tolerance of a very large dog surrounded by very small yapping puppies. Travis was required to take part in the simulation at the helm, and so, unfortunately for her, was Hoshi – who had listened entranced to the story from the previous evening and intended to study the alien's recorded voice patterns from the translator at the earliest opportunity and add them to her database. T'Pol as science officer did not intend to delegate such a vital task to anyone, and was therefore once again one of the landing party.

It had therefore fallen to Trip to pilot the shuttle, he having deftly organised his own second, Lieutenant Hess, to stand in for him during the simulation. He was still surprised that he'd got away with it. Had he not carefully picked a moment during which Malcolm was fully occupied elsewhere, there would certainly have been protests from that quarter. The captain had given permission for the exchange almost absently, and as he piloted the craft effortlessly down through the still, cool dawn air Tucker thought uneasily of the effect which the encounter with the lion-woman seemed to have had on his friend. Although Archer seemed alert enough, and as prepared as anyone to take part in the simulation of an attack from hostile forces on the ground, Trip had known him longer than anyone else on the _Enterprise._ He suspected that the telepathic contact had affected the captain more deeply than he would be prepared to admit, perhaps even to himself. Although their long friendship meant that he could get closer to the captain than most, he couldn't help fearing that in this instance even the most well-intentioned intervention would be met with hostility.

He glanced towards T'Pol, wondering if she'd noticed anything wrong with the relative ease with which he'd gotten away with a request that in ordinary circumstances would have been met with a flat refusal. Tactical simulations were serious matters, and senior officers who had no valid reasons for being elsewhere were expected to show up and play their part. Sure, he was a decent shuttle pilot, but there were others on board. For all his prior planning, even he himself had been slightly shocked by his success. Quite probably T'Pol had been, too. She musthave noticed that the captain was acting somewhat strangely; she was always extremely observant, if not always extremely forthcoming – if he wasn't imagining things, of course. This planet seemed to have had a remarkably lively effect on his imagination already. But if she had anything to say on so sensitive a subject she certainly wouldn't broach it in the presence of a junior officer. At some point in the near future (and perhaps it had better be the very near future) he was going to have to collar her for a little private conversation. Just _conversation_, he reminded himself sternly, having noticed on his own account how very aloof she looked this morning – doubtless gearing up for the task of dutifully enduring the absurdities of any other superstitious aliens they might accidentally bump into today.

He still wasn't sure himself why he was so keen to return to the surface. Shiránnor had made it clear enough that she wasn't going to be around. He thought she was certainly one of the most intriguing aliens they'd encountered so far, and for himself he'd have liked to spend more time with her – even if the fact that he'd had that startling hallucination in close proximity to her had been no more than a coincidence. Nevertheless, he was glad in some ways that she'd made the decision to leave. Whatever joy Jon had gotten out of their mental contact (and from the way that his expression had been transformed, there seemed no other appropriate word), it appeared to have taken its toll on him now. Perhaps it really was best for their two species to keep their distance.

The ship's scanners had not indicated the presence of anything other than animals, and as they opened the shuttle door and looked around it appeared that this time everything in the vicinity was peaceful. A couple of hundred metres away a pack of smallish grey creatures like dog-sized dinosaurs was squabbling over the remaining few large bones of the hind whose migration had come to that premature end yesterday evening, but they showed no interest in the new arrivals. Nevertheless, it would not pay to forget their existence: once the possibilities of the carcass had been exhausted they might look for other prey. Ensign McKenna had a phase pistol holstered at his hip. Malcolm had been mindful that migrating animals attract many predators, and had taken time out from his preparations for the simulation to issue his deputy with strict instructions to stay on alert at all times while co-operating with his superior officers. The young Irishman snatched a pair of binoculars from the shuttlepod locker, stared suspiciously through them at the snapping, snarling animals, and checked (unnecessarily, since Malcolm had issued it to him) that his weapon was fully charged, obviously wishing that they'd come more heavily armed.

"We'll keep an eye on 'em," said Trip reassuringly. "If they look like they're getting too nosy we'll just give one or two of 'em enough of a zap to scare 'em away."

"Yes, sir." He glanced once more at the distant pack, put the binoculars in his pocket where they would be ready to hand, and unclipped his PADD to begin planning.

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><p>The sun rose as they worked. The wind rose too, and although it had no more clouds to hurl in their direction it soon dried the grass heads again. Once more the pollen was shaken out in clouds. All around them the herds were still plodding and munching; as the ground also dried out, their innumerable hooves stirred up the dust to join the pollen in the air. Even this far into the autumn there was still a good deal of warmth in the sunshine, and presently Trip straightened up from checking a particularly promising seam of ore, wiping sweat off his forehead. Like any other part of him that was exposed to air, his face was now coated in pollen. It felt awful. This hadn't happened to such a degree yesterday because the storm had quickly reduced the temperature and the lagyaar's lair was so designed that it remained several degrees cooler than the outside air even on the hottest days of the summer. From glancing at Ensign McKenna's daffodil-tinted features he could guess what he himself looked like. And the pollen-laden perspiration was getting into his coveralls, too. Just in case of any further inopportune hallucinations he'd taken the precaution of wearing a couple of extra pairs of underwear to help contain the results. He'd had no hallucinations, but he was suffering severely from the sweat the extra layers had induced. Even his parched mouth was coated in dust and pollen. "I sure could use a drink," he gasped. "And is there anywhere round here a man could get a wash?"<p>

Vulcan, of course, was far hotter than Earth; its inhabitants had evolved in almost desert conditions. It was therefore probably inevitable that T'Pol was still almost completely unaffected by the heat. She was still as cool and neat as though she had just stepped on to the bridge to start a duty shift. He tried to tell himself that it was only his imagination that as she surveyed the two men her mouth quirked in what in a Human would be the effort not to laugh. "It would certainly appear that you need to," she said primly. "I would not advise drinking the water on this planet without carrying out a prior analysis, but there is a small watercourse in that direction." She pointed north. "A short distance. We could spare the time to pay it a brief visit if you wish."

"At this moment in time I'd trade my next week's shore leave for a liter of water over my head."

"I'd be glad of it too, Sub-Commander," volunteered McKenna a little diffidently. He had never had cause to work with either of them in such circumstances as these, and he seemed to be slightly overawed by the occasion; when his expertise in explosives was called upon he was confident enough, but otherwise he had had little to say for himself. No wonder Malcolm thought highly of him, thought Trip. They could probably work together in the Armory for a whole day and not say a word that wasn't work-related, and that would suit Malcolm just fine. Mr Garrulous he was not.

"Naturally. I suggest that you both satisfy your thirst from what we brought down with us in the shuttle before we leave, so that you will be less tempted to drink the river water."

They deposited the PADDs and the binoculars carefully in the shuttle, took out the water-bottles and sat inside in the shade, drinking thirstily. Even T'Pol consented to sip from a flask of iced tea. The sun was nearing its zenith for the day. Even the unending streams of deer and the odd group of wild black cattle-like creatures seemed to be shuffling more slowly, heads low. The pack of scavengers had disappeared westward some time ago; the plain was silent save for the low ceaseless rumble of hoof-falls.

"Right. Guess we'll lock up and head out." Trip put the bottles back into their container tidily, and stretched, yawning. "Shouldn't take us long, so we'll travel light. Get back here as soon as possible, get the job finished and get back to the ship."

Ensign McKenna had been sitting next to the case that contained the phase pistols for the party. He glanced down at it as he stood up, as if wondering whether to suggest taking more than the one that he was carrying himself, but no member of the Armory staff was a poor hand with a weapon. He could take out every one of the animals in that dinosaur pack single-handed without breaking sweat, if they showed up again and it came to a confrontation. In a country where it was virtually impossible for them to come up against superior fire power, what would three pistols do that one couldn't? "D'you think we should check in with the ship, sir?" he asked as he left the shuttle last of all. "Just to let them know what we're doing?"

Trip squinted at his chronometer. "Probably still tied up with their simulation right now. They won't be expectin' us to check in for about another hour or so. It's hardly worth it. By that time we should be right back here anyway."

And so they set off.

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><p><strong>All reviewscomments received with gratitude!**


	5. Chapter 5

Thanks to Tahmtahm for the regular reviews!

Dra'mah, I hope you're more satisfied with the content of this chapter - things are certainly happening in this one!

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><p>The previous night's storm had restored water to the stream bed in what had previously been a shallow dry gully. The width of it suggested that that at some time during the year it carried a considerable volume, but its flow was variable and even now it was only deep in a few scattered pools. When the landing party came to the lip of the gully they saw the sun twinkling off the surface where all the runoff that the thirsty land had not absorbed was now washing down towards the sea. It was evidently a valuable source of moisture in that broad plain; the low land at either side of it was host to a narrow belt of woodland that had taken advantage of the more sheltered conditions. A swift check with the scanner indicated that no creatures large enough to be the dinosaur-like beasts of the day before were within a kilometer of them, although an area of interference downriver suggested the presence of more hyrellanium deposits that would might make the results in that direction a little unreliable. A quick wash did not seem to present any danger. They had, after all, no reason to linger.<p>

It did not take long to find a route down off the higher ground. The three of them scrambled down a short slope of broken earth without any difficulty and found themselves among the hip-length fronds of fern that clotted the open spaces where the tree canopy let light through.

"I do not require a wash at present," announced T'Pol, studying the fern with her scanner. "Some of these plants appear to have an unusual cellular structure. I shall examine them more closely while you visit the stream."

"Well, if you're gonna be walkin' around in all this you should have the pistol." Tucker held his hand out for the weapon, which McKenna surrendered to him with a look of some reluctance. "Just in case there might be somethin' real unfriendly hidin' in there."

"There are no vital signs of any creatures of any significant size. I do not envisage there being the slightest danger. We will not be out of eyeshot of one another at any time. It would be extremely foolish to do otherwise."

"Humor me." He proffered the pistol. "Just this once. Please."

Her dark eyes held his blue ones for a long moment. He read refusal in them. Was he ever going to get on good terms with her about anything? "Please," he repeated more gently. "Long grass and everythin'. I'll feel a darn sight better if you have this than if we do."

She took the pistol without a word and slid it into her pocket. It clashed against the communicator there, so he took that in exchange as a temporary measure.

"Thanks. Now, Mr McKenna, I suggest we go wash off the worst of this damn pollen real quick, and we can all get back up and finish the job we came down here for. If we don't get that hyrellanium installed before tomorrow evenin' I've got a sneaky feeling the Cap'n'll have our hides for his Ready Room carpet."

After watching T'Pol pick her way carefully towards the nearest clearing among the trees, he led the way across to the broad stream bed. The course of the gully floor was littered with broken rock. Well before they reached the water it became necessary to tread carefully, testing their footing each time. As they reached the damp areas the noise of their arrival startled a number of tiny, hard-shelled invertebrates; these had apparently been scavenging along the margins of the water and scurried across the rocks in a panic-stricken crowd before diving into cover under the larger stones. Ensign McKenna had been surveying the area with some unease, as though less than totally happy about something (probably some of Malcolm's paranoia had rubbed off on him), but the movement drew his gaze downwards and he watched the minute creatures, smiling. "Wouldn't they remind you of little crabs, Commander?" he said. "Just like in the rock pools back home."

"Sure would." Trip had reached a pool large enough for his purposes. He reached down, scooped up a double handful of the delightfully cool, clear water and dashed it into his face. Heavenly. Just in time he remembered to keep his eyes and mouth tightly closed, to minimise the chances of catching any nasties; they'd most likely have to spend a while in decon anyway after this, but at that moment he couldn't have cared less.

It seemed too good an opportunity to miss. Not having towels or any means of drying themselves from a more thorough soaking, it wouldn't be sensible to strip off to his underwear. Nevertheless, the thought of that delectable sensation on his upper body at least was irresistible – and if some of it trickled down to lower regions and rinsed the sweat off them too, that would be a bonus. It might not be too comfortable afterwards, but he'd put up with that. At least as the water evaporated he'd benefit from the cooling action. Carefully ensuring that his pockets were zipped up – just in case of further encounters he'd brought the universal translator along as well as his and T'Pol's communicators – he unfastened his coveralls as far as his waist and stripped the top half down. He tied the arms up to stop the cuffs dropping into the pool accidentally and squatted down to begin dashing handful after handful of water over his head and shoulders. "You should try this too, Ensign," he said, looking up with a grin.

McKenna, however, had straightened up after his first splash and was now looking at the far bank. "I think we may have company, Commander," he said. His hand moved automatically to where the phase pistol should have been, but closed only on empty air.

Trip straightened up and followed the junior officer's gaze towards the far bank. The noise of the stream babbling over the rocks had helped to disguise the sound of hooves approaching through the woodland opposite. Now a number of stags appeared among the trees, and for a moment they appeared to be just strays from the herds moving on the plains above; but shafts of sunlight through the leaves above splintered on armored riders.

"Damnation," said Tucker, hurriedly jerking the arms of his suit free and pulling it back on. "Let's get outta here!"

But it was too late. A shout told them that they had been seen. The stags turned in one concerted movement and plunged towards the bank. As ill luck would have it, on that side a shelf of rock projected far out into the watercourse. Half of the stream glissaded across it in a smooth sheet, and five of the ten riders spurred their beasts on to it, needing to take almost no care over their footing. The Humans, on the other hand, were far out on treacherous ground. They took a couple of risky strides in retreat.

"We won't make it, Commander!" shouted McKenna, gauging without difficulty that the newcomers would overtake them with ease long before they could reach their side of the watercourse, and that even if they didn't there would be little chance of escape in that narrow woodland from mounted riders. "We'll have to try to talk to them!"

"I sure hope they're as friendly as the lion lady!" Realising that his companion was right, Trip halted. He unzipped the large utility pocket that held the translator, thanking fate that he'd thought to bring it again.

He had it in his hands when the stags were pulled up a couple of meters away, just where the shelf ended. The riders dismounted. They were horrifyingly tall – the shortest topped the Humans by half a head at least – and so strongly built that they were like walking fortresses in their bronze armor. Worst of all, their helmeted heads were those of _birds_ – hawks, with hooked beaks and hostile orange eyes. The tallest walked forward, drawing his sword. He stared first at Trip, then at McKenna, who was slightly closer to him.

Heart beating furiously, Trip thumbed the settings. It was still set to the language that Shiránnor had used – with any luck, at least if these people didn't speak the tongue fluently, they'd at least recognise it; perhaps one of them had some basic grasp that could enable them to communicate somehow –

McKenna looked around to ask him something. Maybe the sheer size of the alien up close made him take a step backwards as he did so. At any rate his attention was distracted for the instant the soldier needed. The hapless officer didn't see the move quickly enough to dodge it. The blade sliced into the side of his chest, the force of the blow spinning him around.

_"No!"_ screamed Trip. McKenna didn't make any sound other than a faint gurgle of shock as he crumpled on to the stones. His attacker kicked him aside before staring back again at Trip with the same mesmerising menace.

"You didn't have to do that, you son of a bitch! He – !" Trip was incoherent with horror and rage as he stared down at the armory officer sprawled in the shallows; one of the man's hands tried for a few seconds to put pressure on the wound, but consciousness slid away from him and his head dropped heavily on to the wet rock beneath him. The water was washing steadily across the ensign's ribcage, its bright babble still incongruously cheerful as it drew out a long, ominous scarlet pennant from underneath him. "He was trying to _talk!_"

The orange eyes glared back at him. The blade was still raised, its razor edge wet with blood. _McKenna's blood._

For an instant he was conscious of a sick sense of relief, because it could so easily have been Malcolm lying there – dying, if not already dead. Then he was ashamed of thinking that, because although he hadn't known the ensign at all well, the man doubtless had friends as well as his family back on Earth, and he shouldn't have had to die in this stupid, pointless way on this godforsaken planet so backward they still thought the stars were stuck on a goddamn sphere!

"You put that thing near me and so help me I'll shove it all the way up your ass!" he yelled. It was an empty threat and he knew it; the soldier had used the weapon with the practised grace of a born swordsman. He hoped T'Pol was still safe among the trees. Surely she must have seen what had happened. Surely she would overcome her reluctance to reveal extraterrestrial technology when she could use the phase pistol to defend him. Even if she wouldn't fire it at the aliens themselves, she could take out a couple of their stag-horses and put the fear of God into them. Hell, if she didn't want to kill the animals she could set it on stun, and that would do _something!_ He waited for what seemed endless seconds for the blast of phase fire before realising that it wasn't going to come at all.

For all the fact that so often their relationship had been cranky and sometimes downright difficult, not even in that dreadful moment did he believe that T'Pol had deliberately failed him. For some reason she couldn't help, he was on his own. Even if the UT wasn't working or they didn't speak the same language, his outburst would almost have translated itself. He had an instant's blackly humorous mental image of the Vulcan making her report to a stunned and devastated Archer afterwards with the words _His behaviour was extremely illogical, Captain. He brought it on himself_. Maybe that wasn't the best epitaph for his career. He'd have preferred something to do with designing the first successful Warp Six engine if he'd had the choice.

The smallest alien on the far bank called out suddenly, sharply. The soldier instantly checked his forward stride and lowered the sword, it seemed reluctantly. However, two others immediately began advancing in what was unmistakably a pincer movement. They intended to take him prisoner instead. Almost without conscious thought he turned to run, but the stones underfoot betrayed him; he'd hardly taken two strides before one turned under his boot, throwing him headlong. The translator flew out of his hand and splashed into a pool a meter away. He tried to struggle up again but his left ankle gave way with a wash of sickening pain that suggested he might have broken it. His vision darkened momentarily. There was a buzzing in his ears. _Don't faint now, you idiot. Just get away. Phlox can fix this..._

Scaled and armored legs surrounded him. He couldn't think past the agony clearly enough to muster up effective resistance. They hauled him upright, and he almost fell again when he tried to put weight on his left leg; he did his best to choke back the cry that involuntarily tore from him, but they had seen him fall and seemed to understand that he was injured. The soldier on his left side took his arm roughly and drew it across his shoulder and neck, putting his own arm around Trip's back to support him. The disparity in their height meant that as he straightened up the Human was dragged almost up on to tiptoe: once again the bright world dipped and darkened around him. The side of the breastplate dug into his ribs, the vambrace ground against his spine. "Bastards," he groaned, trying to struggle. The grip around his wrist was hard and painful; the soldiers' hands were scaled and clawed, with long fingers that were stronger than they looked.

Leaving his companion's body where it had fallen, they partly helped and partly carried him back towards the far bank where the remaining five riders were waiting, collecting their stags on the way. Stubbornly he kept his teeth clamped together, fighting down the urge to call for help. If T'Pol hadn't already been captured, he wasn't going to let on that he had any other companions. She had no means of calling the ship, but if she was still safe she could make her way back to the shuttle and use the com-link there. If she wasn't, their crewmates on board _Enterprise_ would notice pretty soon that they hadn't reported in and, if attempts to contact them using them using the communicators failed, a second shuttle would be sent down in short order. If they could find T'Pol, hopefully she'd be able to tell them what had happened. Unless some chance offered for him to get hold of the communicators himself, that was the best chance there was.

They reached the other stags, which had been drawn up in a row to observe events. As he stumbled to the top of the shallow slope he was released and shoved unceremoniously to his knees, but he saved himself from falling headlong and pushed himself defiantly upright. Now he had time to notice that the middle three of the riding-beasts looked different from the outermost two. They lacked the great spread of sharpened antlers, but had the same small recurved horns as the animal Shiránnor had killed. Looking past the broad heads with their ornate, silver-mounted bridles he realised that the riders were different, too. They were far slighter in build, and had no armor; also they were seated side-saddle. They too had the heads of birds, but theirs were narrow and elegant, eerily similar to those of the egrets that inhabited the waterways of his Florida home. Their yellow eyes were piercing, their beaks elongated and slightly curved only at the very tip. The richness of the swathes of cloth with which they were clad was the final confirmation of what he'd already begun to suspect.

The one on the right spoke. Her feathers were brilliantly white, her knuckles bloodless on the reins. Her mount backed and sidled with nerves, and she punished it with a sharp cut from the whip she carried in her left hand. Her voice was shrill and angry-sounding. His only chance of understanding her was back in the watercourse.

"Pleased to meet you too, ma'am," he said, keeping his chin high. "Y'know, there are some really nice folks on this world. And there again, there are you folks. But like they say, ya gotta learn to take the bitter with the sweet."

The smallest of the three, on the left, had grey feathers irregularly stippled with black. There was no doubt that he owed his survival to her, but as he looked up into her intent stare he felt the freezing finger of a nameless apprehension that had nothing to do with the drawn blades of the soldiers behind him.

The one in the middle was tall and aloof. She had a gold mantle partly drawn over her head, but it was still visible that she had reddish feathers. Her voice, when she spoke, was considerably easier on the ear than that of the first, but its drawl conveyed a degree of boredom. She pulled her mount backwards out of the line and threw a brief command over her shoulder before she rode away.

White – he was never to know any of their names – dragged her mount around in a circle and whipped it again, glaring at him as though ready to deal with him in the same way given half an excuse. Then she rode after Red. The cracked note of her voice raised in argument drifted back; it seemed that quarrelling sounded the same in any language.

For long moments Grey sat immobile, so still that she was an image painted on the backdrop of the trees. He kept his spine straight and stared back at her. It was impossible to describe her as ugly; none of the three of them were that; but there was some quality in that unblinking gaze that he had never encountered before. Fear curdled in the pit of his stomach. The yellow eyes watched him carefully, and then she nodded – a curiously inhuman motion in which her head lifted and lowered on the slightly elongated neck without any change in its angle. She issued another order, in a voice that was low and sibilant, and then she turned her beast and followed the others without haste, not deigning to respond to the shrill complaint that greeted her as she drew level with them.

Trip was hoisted to his feet once more. The soldiers remounted and he was partly pulled, partly lifted to sit pillion behind one of them. He tried to resist, but the hiss of steel clearing the scabbard again told him that his reprieve could be only a temporary one if he persisted. "'Kay, keep your damned feathers on," he growled, submitting. T'Pol would be watching. T'Pol would have a plan. He believed that, he told himself as the stags began moving into the forest.

He _had _to believe that.

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><p><strong>All reviewscomments received with gratitude!**


	6. Chapter 6

Thanks to Tahmtahm for the regular reviews!

Lady Kate, I hope this lives up to your expectations!

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><p>Sub-commander T'Pol moved into the lush undergrowth with the appropriate care, studying the readings on her scanner with interest. Some of these plant forms were truly fascinating, and would make valuable contributions to the ship's exobiology database. She began recording her findings conscientiously, but did not forget to glance up repeatedly to where the two men were making a cautious way towards the water in the middle of the gully. She was, in the circumstances, the 'lookout'; she could not allow her interest in the flora to distract her for more than a few seconds at any time.<p>

Although in the usual course of things she would not have approved of a detour for no more vital reasons than the need for a wash, there was no doubt that her two fellow crewmen were sorely in need of it. For some reason the memory of Commander Tucker's face powdered with yellow pollen struck her as being humorous. She dismissed the thought firmly and concentrated on the scanner readings; at least until voices told her that the men had reached the water. She just happened to be looking in that direction again when the commander stripped down the top half of his coveralls, and she saw the broad muscular shoulders under the blue vest. The unwelcome thought slid into her mind that it was rather unlikely that Koss would have such a powerfully built upper body. She banished that with speed. It was wholly irrelevant. Naturally, her future husband would be healthy – Vulcans took care of their bodies, unlike so many Humans who systematically abused their digestive systems by regularly consuming animal flesh. His disciplined and highly developed brain was far more important than his body, she pursued. There could be no doubt who was the superior in _that_ respect. He was intelligent and highly-respected. Her eventual marriage to him would be no more than logical. To be sure, they hardly knew one another, but she had no doubt that in due course they would establish a relationship of mutual regard.

Having established all this in her mind as indisputable fact, it was with surprising difficulty that she drew her gaze away from the breadth of Commander Tucker's shoulders and returned it to the scanner. It was at this point, however, that her acute hearing picked up the sound of hooves. She looked up again quickly. Now even the Humans had caught it; she saw Ensign McKenna's head turn quickly, and Commander Tucker straightened up.

Seconds later it became apparent that the newcomers were other denizens of the planet, and that they had seen the Humans out on the watercourse. This was a most unwelcome development. Tucker was a chief engineer whose talents in that respect she had come to acknowledge (if only to herself) as remarkable, but as a diplomat he was singularly wanting. She was unacquainted with Ensign McKenna's diplomatic skills, but it was unlikely that Lieutenant Reed had selected him for his ability to conduct sensitive inter-species negotiations with any particular ease. At least she had noticed that morning that the Commander had had the forethought to bring the translator. It should be possible to conduct a conversation – although given the fact that Shiránnor had warned them yesterday about the width of the gulf between their civilisations, and she herself shared the Captain's determination to avoid contaminating pre-warp cultures, it would certainly be best for the encounter to be kept as brief as could be contrived.

She saw the small group of new arrivals split up. The fact that seven of them were heavily armored could not be considered significant in itself on a world ruled by brutality and superstition, but nevertheless, as five of the soldiers advanced on the two men T'Pol watched with growing concern. At least Commander Tucker had the wisdom to reach quickly for the translator. They might not be Starfleet's best diplomats, but they were amply intelligent enough to weigh up their chances against five mounted men: neither fight nor flight was an option. At least, she noted, the new arrivals included women. Given the Commander's reprehensible tendency to seduce almost any female he came across, what he sometimes referred to as his 'Southern charm' might yet prove an extremely valuable asset for once.

The attack was so swift that she hardly saw what happened. For a moment she wondered why Ensign McKenna doubled up so strangely, and then as the sunlight splintered off the stained blade she understood. She saw Commander Tucker react with shock and fury, and heard his bellow of defiance ring around the gully. The phase pistol was in her hand as though it had leaped into it of its own volition; her mind was suddenly flooded with an icy rage that neither her upbringing nor her heritage could control. It did not affect her ability to think clearly: she never for a moment lost sight of the ramifications of intervention with a phase pistol. But the prospect of standing idle while the chief engineer was struck down in the same cruel manner was quite simply unthinkable. It would not require her to kill – there were a number of available options for scaring away people who had never encountered an energy blast before.

Having decided on the most effective course of action, she stepped forward, raised her hand and took careful aim. In the same instant, out of the corner of her eye she saw what looked like a small patch of bark on a nearby tree detach itself and jump at her leg. In the next second it was hanging on to the fabric of her uniform and an agonising pain in her thigh told her that she had been bitten. That in itself was bad enough, but the bite was obviously venomous: a powerful toxin began to circulate through her body, spreading upwards from the injury site on a wave of numbness. Her head began to spin. Her legs buckled. She dropped the phase pistol, unable to focus or fire it, and slowly she toppled to the ground.

Time became dreamlike. As she stared upwards, the trees seemed to revolve against the sky in some strange dance. She could hear voices, even though there was nobody there, but they were talking nonsense. Something was dreadfully wrong. Somebody needed her. Somebody she – _cared for – _somebody – danger – blood –

A second pain, worse than the first, lanced through her and she cried aloud. But as though this somehow counteracted the toxin, the confusion started to ebb, and as reality began to come back she slowly regained the mental disciplines that would help her to deal with the situation. After a couple of minutes she was able to sit up – just in time to see a superbly camouflaged creature that resembled some kind of flying squirrel slither back onto the tree from which it had ambushed her. Its fur was so perfectly patterned that once it became still again she could hardly see it, even though she knew exactly where it was. With difficulty she slithered backwards in case it attacked her again. Then she took stock of her injuries. Her leg clearly showed the large puncture where the creature had bitten her first. It was still oozing blood, but was not life threatening. More worrying by far was the second injury: the torn fabric of her uniform showed where there was an incision slightly lower on her thigh that had been made with surgical precision, and her lightly exploring fingers found a lump underneath it.

Other issues came back to her in a series of random realisations as she staggered back to her feet. _Enterprise. Ensign McKenna. Commander Tucker. _ She lifted her head and stared out across the river. The bird-people had gone, and so had their prisoner. Only a motionless splash of royal-blue fabric out in the middle of the watercourse remained.

She picked up her scanner and the phase pistol and began walking as quickly as her unsteady legs would carry her towards where the men had reached the watercourse. Navigating the treacherous footing seemed to take years, but soon she was stooping over Ensign McKenna. To her surprise, and relief, although he was unconscious there was still a faint pulse under his jaw; it was feeble and irregular, and his skin was the color of paper. If it was not already too late to save him, it very shortly would be.

Her hand dropped to the pocket where she kept her communicator, but there was nothing there. After a moment's confusion she remembered exchanging it for the phase pistol. The Commander had taken charge of it and he was gone. McKenna had not brought one with him. As she stared around in something like very unVulcan despair, a stray shaft of sunlight breaking through the heavy dark clouds now once more building up ominously in the sky gleamed on a small object in a pool a short distance away that reflected its brilliance with a hard metallic luster.

The translator. She picked it up and found with relief that it was undamaged. Luckily its circuits had been built to resist immersion in water and its built-in communications device could be reprogrammed to contact the ship, but first the unconscious Human needed to be removed from the water: its constant flow over his body would drain his body heat and combine with the blood loss to send him into shock, if it hadn't done so already. She braced her feet in the most secure footholds she could find, squatted down, and gathered the unconscious armory officer in her arms. In ordinary circumstances she would have lifted and carried him with little effort, but the pain from her leg meant that she needed to concentrate desperately hard to carry him safely to the bank, where she laid him down among the ferns as being the most sheltered place available. Frowning in an effort to clear the last stubborn shreds of uncertainty from her mind, she opened the translator and began working on it. A series of simple commands that would ordinarily have taken her seconds became unbelievably complex operations to her fog-shrouded brain. Away in the west the low rumble of thunder added its menacing note as she struggled.

At last the reprogramming was complete. She thumbed the call button. "T'Pol to ... to _Enterprise_."

"Archer here." He sounded relieved. "What took you so long, Sub-commander? We thought you'd decided to dig that hyrellanium out with your fingernails."

"Captain. There has been a..." she fought to imagine the right word. "A development. Ensign McKenna is seriously injured. He should be beamed up immediately for Doctor Phlox to treat him."

"A _'development'?" _She could picture him rising in dismay from the command chair, the cheerful expression wiped off his face. "What sort of 'development'?"

"It would take too long to explain, Captain. Please arrange for the transport. The ensign's wounds are life threatening." She heard him rap out the orders, and then Lieutenant Reed's interruption.

"Captain. There's another storm approaching. Not as big as the last one, but it's producing a lot of molecular disturbance in the atmosphere that could affect the sequencing. If we use the transporter I can't guarantee that McKenna will survive it."

"If you do not use it I can absolutely guarantee that he will _not_ survive," said T'Pol levelly. "He has minutes to live at most if he remains here."

"Alert the transporter room. Get Phlox and his team there on the double," snapped Archer. "Half a chance is better than none. Hoshi, can you get a fix on McKenna's location?"

"Yes, sir." The Ensign's voice was clearly audible. "With Sub-commander T'Pol. But – Commander Tucker isn't with them."

"T'Pol?" Archer's suddenly dry throat forced him to swallow before he spoke; she noted the infinitesimal pause. "Was Trip part of this – 'development'? Why isn't he with you?"

"Commander Tucker has been captured, sir. When I last saw him he had sustained no serious injury."

"And were _you_ hurt?"

"I may need Doctor Phlox's assistance in due course." She ran a hand gingerly over the lump in her thigh; the flesh around it was swollen and angry. "But for the present I believe that I am able to function almost normally."

"You say Trip's been – captured? Captured by whom?"

The faint sound of the transporter beam locking on to Ensign McKenna's body made her step backwards to be out of its range. The shimmer as the molecules dissolved struck her as being quite remarkably fascinating. She drew her gaze away from it with an effort at the almost panic-stricken sound of the Captain's voice: "T'Pol?"

"By what I presume were another of this world's peoples," she said flatly. "They were humanoid with noticeable avian characteristics. They came upon the ensign and the commander when they were refreshing themselves in a small stream and took them unawares. In the ensuing confrontation the ensign was badly wounded. The commander attempted to evade capture, but he did not succeed."

"And how were you able to escape?"

"I was not with them at the time, Captain." Briefly she explained about her decision to explore the flora of the area rather than the refreshing properties of the river water. "I therefore observed everything that happened. I was attempting to intervene when I was attacked by a small animal whose toxin temporarily disabled me. As soon as I recovered I assessed Ensign McKenna's condition and contacted the ship."

"We've got McKenna up safely. Stand by and we'll pick you up."

"With respect, Captain, I refuse. I believe it would be more logical for me to remain here and attempt to rescue Commander Tucker."

"We'll get a fix on him too, once we have you on board."

"Lieutenant Reed will confirm that the storm is worsening rapidly in this area." All around her the rising wind was whipping the trees, and the first fingers of lightning were clawing at the clouds. "It would be illogical to rescue the commander by killing him with the transporter."

"She's got a point, Captain." Reed's reluctant concurrence sounded in the background. "They had a bit of a struggle with McKenna apparently."

Archer paused. "OK. But you take no unnecessary risks. That's an order, T'Pol!"

"Understood. T'Pol out." She closed the com-link and stood for a moment considering. Then she removed the scanner from her pocket and replaced it with the translator – unlike Starfleet regulation uniforms, her suit did not have a number of useful, if utilitarian, zipped pockets in various locations. For the first time she found this a disadvantage, since she now had three devices to look after. It took her moments to re-programme the scanner, although the hyrellanium deposits that she had already noted would make it less reliable than usual when she got closer; apart from the occasional moment of dizziness her mental faculties were restoring themselves quickly to full efficiency as the toxin was eliminated from her system. Physically, apart from the throbbing sensation around the lump in her thigh she had no remaining problems that would interfere with her concentration. The discomfort from the large wet area across her torso where she had had to cradle Ensign McKenna while carrying him out of the watercourse was minor enough to ignore completely.

The kidnappers had not gone far. Doubtless they too had noted the onset of the storm and had decided to seek shelter. Unfortunately, it appeared that the ten she had seen had been no more than a fraction of the actual number traveling; insofar as the readouts could be depended on, which she would have to check visually, a sizeable entourage was encamped further down the watercourse. She studied the information carefully. It was not difficult to pick up Commander Tucker's Human bio-signs among the aliens'. The data suggested that some kind of temporary camp was hurriedly being set up, and that could be made to work to her advantage. While it rained they would be more concerned with keeping dry than keeping watch – and by Shiránnor's account less alert for potential enemies than they would on another world less thoroughly cowed into subjection than this one. She might find her chance in the storm.

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><p><strong>All reviews and comments received with gratitude!<strong>


	7. Chapter 7

Thanks to Tahmtahm for the regular reviews, and to everyone else who has been kind enough to comment!

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><p>A little over an hour later Sub-Commander T'Pol was crouching in the negligible shelter of a stand of bushes she had chosen more for the color of their withering, brown, arrow-shaped leaves than for any protection they were likely to offer against the rain. The camp had been set up on an area where the plain dropped to the level of the watercourse, and most of the inhabitants had retreated inside. There were perhaps twenty tents in all, of varying sizes. Horse lines – or more correctly 'deer lines' – had been set up: forty or so blindfolded animals nosed at heaps of wet fodder or just stood resignedly in the downpour, their great ears flickering occasionally at the thunder. A number of what appeared to be a variety of oxen had been picketed alongside a line of baggage wains. The darkness of the storm had made it necessary for lamps to be lit inside most of the tents against the premature evening; shadows came and went against the canvas, revealing the movements of those within. It appeared unlikely that there was any plan to move out when the storm passed – nightfall was approaching fast, even without the lowering clouds. Fires had been lit beside some of the larger tents with wet leather awnings carefully placed to keep off the rain, although those who tended them bore it perforce, and the scent of cooking drifted on the damp air.<p>

Two sentries had been placed on duty, one at either side of the camp. A very short period of observation revealed that they were not within sight of each other. Their presence was no more than a formality. The one nearest to her hardly bothered to raise his head from time to time, but stood gloomily enduring the deluge. Large drops ran down the metal planes of his helmet on to the nasal, gathered on the end of his beak and plopped into the large puddle forming on the wet earth between his sandalled feet.

Nevertheless, if she was going to mount her one-Vulcan invasion of the camp he had to be neutralised. Fortunately, those who had sited the tents had not taken into account the fact that as a basic security measure a good area of open ground should always be left between the camp perimeter and the nearest cover. Fern foamed almost right up to several of the tents. She crept sideways soundlessly, ignoring the pain in her leg, then wormed across to the side of the nearest for which the fern afforded her cover and slid back towards him, keeping in the shadow of the canvas overhangs. It occurred to her to wonder whether the nerve-paths of these bird-people corresponded to those species on whom her planned method of attack had previously proved successful; just in case it didn't, she had the phase pistol ready in her left hand.

For a long moment T'Pol hesitated. The sentry was so negligent that she could quite probably walk into the camp unseen behind his back with hardly any risk of discovery. But there was too much danger that he might choose to look around at the wrong moment. He had to be taken out of the reckoning.

She glanced to ensure that the pistol was still on stun setting, cast a last look around to make sure that when she stood up she would be unobserved from within the camp, and then, rising to a half-crouch, flitted up behind the sentry. A sudden gust of wind buffeted him; he swayed slightly and muttered under his breath. Her hand slid into the gap between his helmet and the top rim of his pauldron, plunging among the wet feathers with the swiftness of a striking snake. The differences in muscular structure were enough to allow him time to draw a single deep breath before she found the vulnerable spot she was seeking. The air went out of his lungs in a long gasp as his legs buckled; she dropped the pistol on to the soaking earth as she grabbed him, making sure that his fall was relatively silent.

It was safer to conceal him in the nearest undergrowth than to put him anywhere near one of the tents, where any passer-by might see him and raise the alarm. More swathes of rain swept blurring veils across the camp as she half-lifted, half-carried his heavy, armored body into the bushes where she herself had taken refuge. That taken care of, she retrieved the pistol and crouched once more in the lee of the nearest tent while she studied the scanner again, establishing the location of the tent where Commander Tucker's bio-signs were still reassuringly strong. He had not moved in the intervening time: perhaps he was guarded or bound, or even unconscious.

The tent beside her was fortunately temporarily empty. She lay down and peered under the rim of the canvas wall. Anonymous heaps of fabric met her gaze in the gloom, many of them within quite easy grabbing distance. She slid a cautious arm inside, seized a fold of cloth and pulled it gently. Luck was with her. She appeared to have found a store of clothing – damp, but she could not become any wetter than she was already. The plain brown robe had a deep hood and long sleeves: at a guess, it was priests' or servants' garb. It also had internal pockets, as she discovered when she had quickly donned it. That was a bonus: she could stow away the scanner and the translator separately without any fear of them clanking together. Reluctantly she decided to keep the phase pistol available for use if absolutely necessary, held in one hand tucked up inside one of the voluminous sleeves.

Her disguise now safely in place, she stood up again cautiously. The tent she had to aim for was not far distant. It was considerably more luxurious than most of the others: its canvas was dyed bright orange and the ropes that held it upright were worked with gold thread. A saturated pennant hung limply from a staff jammed upright in the earth in front of the entrance to it, too sodden to stir to any save the most emphatic gust of wind. Presumably that was thought to be sufficient warning against any unauthorised entry, for there were no sentries on duty.

Working on the premise that the less she tried to be inconspicuous the more inconspicuous she would actually become, she began walking through the camp, hood up and head down but her strides open and confident. Several similarly dressed individuals bustled to and fro in various directions, evidently keen to spend as short a time as possible out of shelter and too distracted to pay her any heed whatever. The downpour was ample reason for every head to be covered; some ran out with extra swathes of cloth held over themselves, but nothing they had available could keep out this kind of rainfall for long.

She reached her goal without incident. The luxurious nature of the tent was now revealed to include three separate apartments at its far end. Further furtive examination of the scanner outside revealed that Commander Tucker was in the central one of these, and that he was guarded – presumably by another of the soldiers. A number of other people were in the main body of the structure, but the left and right of the three smaller apartments were empty. Lamps and voices and the smell of food suggested that a meal was in progress.

The rain began to hammer down with even greater vigor as she slipped between this and the adjoining tent; the clouds threatened, but the lightning held off briefly. Out of sight, she went down on to her stomach and examined the base of the back wall of the left hand apartment. It was sewn to a ground sheet with gold thread, but being chiefly for decorative effect, this was not strong. Certainly it was not as strong as a determined Vulcan. Once the gap was wide enough, she wriggled through it, serpentine in the dark. A camp bed of sorts stood immediately in front of her, slathered in rich furs and fabrics. Quickly she slid forward underneath it. Safe from discovery for the moment, she put down the phase pistol and drew out the translator. She needed to get some information about these people – most importantly, if possible, what they intended to do about (or to) their prisoner in the next few minutes.

The display flickered in the gloom as it found the correct programme. The voices in the next room began to make sense.

"You have no right to forbid me." Sibilant and threatening.

"I do not forbid you. If you want a plaything that is your affair." Bored. "But you are taking a risk."

"Yes! Vede'hanax will hear of this from a dozen sources!" Shrill and resentful. "You think you will be safe, because he desires closer ties to ensure our father's loyalty? He will not disregard something like this! He will send you home like a whipped bitch, and who will take you to wife then?"

"True. And it may possibly have some ramifications for _us_. Not that that would interest you excessively, of course." A hardening note in the boredom. "I for one do not intend to be a junior wife forever. But it will be somewhat difficult to act on that aspiration if I begin life in the Women's Quarters known only as the sister of a slut who quenched her heats with a ... well... a _whatever_ he is."

"You think I am a fool? You think I would risk being sent tamely home, leaving you to the power? We will see who advances fastest and furthest in the Emperor's favour." She stretched. "I have my plans ready."

"If these plans include a method of obtaining your pleasures without risk, we would be fascinated to hear them," said the third spitefully. "In view of the fact that we will doubtless be privileged to lie awake half the night listening, you could at least let us into the secret first."

"No secrets between sisters?" The sly smile was audible. "Sare'sora is an old fool, but he knows his work. Also he fears me. While he was preparing to bind up the prisoner's foot, I ordered him to mix ... something additional ... into the prisoner's medicine. And he did not dare refuse."

There was the sound of caught breath. "_Halkarh_," someone said almost inaudibly.

"Precisely." Less a bird than a contented cat, purring over the body of its victim. "And when he can no longer pleasure me, I shall scream, '_Help! Help! The monster has slipped its bonds and assaulted me. I am a victim. I have been ravaged in my own bed, in my own tent!' _Who can blame me for that?"

"And – the punishment?" A hushed and greedy whisper. "There will be punishment?"

"Naturally. Something ... memorable. Packs of _garynnai_ hunt out on the plains. As soon as the sun rises we ride out in search of one. We give them a taste of his blood ... we let them catch his scent ... and then we watch."

"He is strong." The excitement was almost feral. "It will be talked of all over the Empire!"

"Exactly. And why should Vede'hanax blame me? I have only avenged my honour and his. And I am sure that neither of you will say differently. Even if you do have to lie awake all night listening." A snigger, and the sound of wine splashing into a goblet. "Sare'sora gave me what I ordered, too. I intend to make the most of this experience. Very shortly I will be ready to be ravaged. Repeatedly."

T'Pol had heard more than enough. She switched off the translator and lay still for a long moment, trying to control her inexplicably ragged breathing. Horror drew for her the dinosaur-creatures quarrelling over the dead hind – their sharp, ripping claws, their serrated teeth. The Human – Commander Tucker –_ Charles – Trip!_, drugged and exhausted, flung down to fight a losing battle for his life while a baying audience looked on, cheering his dreadful fate as a fitting punishment for his crimes.

There was no time now to indulge in rage, however. She had to get the commander out of here by any means possible. If the worst came to the very worst, and their escape was foiled, she resolved to kill him herself: it would be far quicker and more merciful than what awaited him otherwise. Deliberately she picked up the phase pistol and changed the setting. Then she crept out from beneath the bed and looked around for what else she needed. On a table nearby a lush pile of fruit spilled out of a bowl. A silver knife lay beside it, doubtless for use in removing peel or stones. A flickering glare of lightning lit up the blade before plunging the room once more into darkness.

Muted lamplight in the next apartment showed that the single guard was still sitting in the same place, with his back to the dividing canvas wall. To judge by his shadow, he was wearing no armor. She waited for the beginning of the blast of thunder that followed the lightning bolt before inserting the knife-point into the canvas behind the guard; perhaps only the long stern training of her early years on Vulcan prevented her from thrusting it right through and into his unguarded back. As soon as the rent was long enough her free hand snaked through to seize the base of his neck: the man had been dozing and had not had time to react to the sound behind him. Had the thunder been less deafening the sound of his slithering fall would surely have been audible in the main compartment of the tent, but raucous laughter there showed that the women's attention was diverted anyway.

The peal lasted just long enough for her to lengthen the rip sufficiently to slip through it. She flung a wary glance at the heavy piece of fabric that divided the apartment from the rest of the tent, and then looked at the bed – a similar one to that in the room she had just left, except that it had a gagged human male tied down on it.

His hands were bound to the bedstead at the top corners, but his legs were free. He had signified his extreme displeasure at his situation by kicking vigorously at any of the bedclothes he could reach. Most were on the floor, but one had dropped partly across his face and was currently resisting his efforts to knock it away. When he saw her arrive he stopped and stared at her. In the lamplight it was visible that his Starfleet uniform was rolled up on the floor beside him; she bent quickly and checked that both communicators were still safely in the pockets. Then she turned to him and reached for the gag – but as she met his gaze she suddenly paused.

He had been drugged, of course: the pupil of that one visible eye was dilated. But how electrifyingly blue the iris of it was: how intense the quality of his stare! She hesitated, watching his gaze rake down the length of her body in a way that he would never have done on _Enterprise_; illogically, she felt suddenly as though her uniform were made of glass. The muscles in his arms bunched and he planted his heels on the bed to perform a physical movement that was as eloquent as it was violent.

"I am here to rescue you, Commander," she said in a low voice, crouching down beside him. "When I release you, you must co-operate with me. You have been drugged and you are in grave danger."

It was probably fortunate that the women outside would have become familiar with the sound of an agitated Human pitting his strength against the structure of the bed. It was singularly _un_fortunate that his reaction showed T'Pol all too clearly that once he was released there was only one activity in which she could command his full and enthusiastic co-operation. She doubted whether he actually recognised her at all: all he recognised was her gender. Escape would be problematic enough without being attempted while one participant was continually trying to mount the other.

In that moment T'Pol of Vulcan realised that – vexatious and demeaning as it might be – their only hope of survival lay in her ability to act. No part of her extensive education had included drama coaching, but then given the quality of the performances in the dreadful old 'horror' films which inexplicably afforded him such entertainment, Trip Tucker was hardly the best judge of dramatic talent. She pushed the cloth away from his face, inadvertently exposing herself to the double effect of those hypnotically blue eyes, and brought her face close to his. "I want to mate with you," she breathed. "But Vulcans do not mate inside a tent. We have to be outside. The rain excites us."

For some reason that evidently struck a powerful chord with him. He moaned aloud. It was probably just as well that the one remaining fur he had not succeeded in kicking off was preserving at least some of his modesty, but it certainly didn't conceal his enthusiasm for the idea. Flushing slightly at the observation, the science officer refused to admit even to herself that acting this part wasn't nearly as difficult as she had imagined; if she hadn't been so superbly mentally disciplined, it might even have occurred to her to wonder if she was altogether acting.

"We must be quiet," she whispered. "The aliens want to keep you from me." (Even the _Bride of Frankenstein_ hadn't had dialog this dire, she thought to herself.)

A violent head-shake. He glanced up at his bound wrists.

The knots were secure, but his struggles had made them looser than they had been originally. She used the tip of the knife to drag the cords loose and soon they fell free. It was probably inevitable that as soon as his hands were released they began to act in a way that that suggested he seriously underestimated the danger of the situation. She untied the cloth from around his face and removed the gag that it had held in his mouth last of all, and promptly had to slide away from a kiss that brushed the side of her cheekbone, leaving an inexplicable sensation of fire behind it.

"Not here," she whispered. "Outside. In the storm." She picked up his uniform. That must not be left behind, especially with the communicators in it. He stood up, tossing aside the fur, and she hurriedly averted her gaze. If she had been in the habit of thanking her lucky stars, she would have done so now at the discovery that the briefs were not rolled up with his overalls but still on him, though they were straining at the seams with the unaccustomed pressure. She also snatched up one of the darker swathes of fabric he had kicked on to the floor; if they were to be travelling through the woods his semi-naked body would be dangerously visible, and though the night was not cold the teeming rain might still lower his temperature towards the threat of exposure.

His ankle appeared to have suffered injury. It had been strapped tightly and professionally, however, and he seemed able to move on it well enough. The woman had referred to 'medicine' so it seemed he had been given some kind of pain relief – these people evidently had some skill with drugs. Otherwise, to outward appearances at least, he had taken no harm. If they could get enough of a start there was a chance they might get back to the shuttlepod. Once inside it they would be protected against virtually any assault, if by any ill fortune they were found. Sooner or later the bird-people would get tired of waiting, the drug in Commander Tucker's bloodstream would wear off, the storm would end, and they could return to _Enterprise_. The hyrellanium could wait another day or two until they could be absolutely sure that nothing more sentient than a salad leaf was within forty kilometers of it.

They had no time for him to don his uniform, even if she could have made him understand the necessity, but his boots – almost hidden under the bed close to where his overalls had been – were a must. One of them was intact, but the other had obviously been cut off his injured ankle. She managed to coax him into putting them on, strapping the ruined one into place with the cloth that had kept the gag in his mouth. Then she draped his uniform around her neck for ease of carrying and they were ready to leave.

The knife parted the tent seam easily. Her first instinct was to go out first, but with him right behind her and behaving in a way that was not only highly inappropriate in a junior officer but also interfering badly with her ability to think clearly and logically, that would obviously be the worst of all possible moves. She gestured to him to precede her. Yesterday he'd been determined to do it out of some misguided Human chivalric impulse because he feared there might be danger; now that they really were in danger – very grave danger indeed – he baulked, presumably suspecting that she was trying to get rid of him. She controlled her irritation. "The rain," she breathed. "Out in the rain!"

"Wherever you want it, sweetheart." His voice was a low, sensuous rumble in her ear. "I'll be waitin' for you out there." He bent and slipped through the gap.

With a last look around she slipped through it too, and joined him. At that point she discovered that in his drugged state he imagined that she had meant her words literally. The instant she straightened up she was seized, and this time he was not going to take no for an answer. His mouth came down on hers, his arms went around her, and for several dizzyingly risky seconds she so far forgot everything as to stand there with him in open view of whoever might walk past while his warm tongue slowly explored her mouth and her legs turned to butter underneath her.

The lightning flashed again, and fear for him brought her back to her senses with a sickening snap. "Not here!" she croaked. "Not yet!" She shook out the cloth and threw it around him. "They might find us – we have to find somewhere to hide!"

"Hide," he repeated uncomprehendingly, trying to catch hold of her again as she slipped from his grasp with a supple twist. "Do you know how beautiful you are?"

"You can tell me everything when we reach safety." She took hold of one of the hands that tried to detain her and began to lead him between the tents. The sentry should be still unconscious by now; she could only hope that anyone else braving the rain would see only two shrouded and anonymous figures. Anxiety screamed at her to run, logic told her to walk. She obeyed logic, and Commander Tucker followed, though from time to time he leaned forward over her shoulder and whispered promises that turned the tips of her ears jade with embarrassment.

The camp had settled down for the evening meal and a long night's boredom. Nobody emerged from the tents. From one the notes of some kind of stringed musical instrument made a valiant if somewhat ludicrous effort to compete with the peals of thunder for attention.

They reached the edge of the camp and slipped in among the trees, unnoticed and unchallenged. There was hardly anything as definite as a path, more like a deer-trail that wove between the trees, but it was the best guide they had. Above their heads the branches whipped and thrashed. All around them the near-darkness was full of sound and half-seen movement, except during those instants when the white glare of the lightning brought the scene into stark relief and revealed a tangle of bushes swaying and rustling in the wind.

Suddenly the brassy note of a horn split the quiet behind them. Again and again it sounded. A babble of voices answered; individual cries were discernable even at this distance – a scream that was surely 'Find him, you fools!' came over clearly.

"Run!" said T'Pol urgently. She seized the commander's wrist and began dragging him. The increased pace told on his injured ankle, however. Almost at once he began to stumble. Soon whimpers of pain escaped between his locked teeth; but the pursuit was on, and it would require minimal powers of deduction on his captors' part to realise that the escapee would almost certainly be heading back to where he had been captured.

They kept on for a couple of hundred meters before they heard shouts behind them. Moments later they knew they had been seen. The cold finger of awareness had penetrated even the drugged haze in Commander Tucker's brain by now. She was no longer having to drag him, and snatched glances at his face showed dawning bewilderment. His ankle would no longer serve him for running; when they stopped he leaned heavily on her shoulder, his breath labouring in his chest.

The pursuit was closing fast. They were not going to make it. The watercourse was very close to them now, and with some illogical thought of perhaps snatching one last look at the stars if the clouds parted before the end she pulled him off the path and pushed a way through the bushes to where the water gleamed in its wide stone bed. At least there if a tiny chink of sky showed they would see it.

They stopped on a stone ledge at the edge of the gully, sheltered beneath the storm-thrashed boughs of some kind of weeping tree. A few meters away, dimly seen in the roaring darkness beyond, a huge pale wedge of rock rested across a deep narrow channel in midstream where the storm runoff boiled; if Trip had been in any better physical shape it might have offered them cover for a break across the river, but he was utterly spent - the way he was leaning on her told her that. She could allow them to be taken prisoner again and try to reason with their captors using the translator, but these people were barbarians; if they could plan to treat a wounded prisoner with such calculated cruelty, how could one reason with them with any hope of success? They must have known from the start that he was an intelligent being, capable of feeling pain and fear; that would not have saved him before, and she could place no reliance on it saving him now. Once in their hands again, the Commander could look for no mercy. She held him upright as best she could, racking her brain for alternatives. She could call the _Enterprise_, but the savagery of the storm was far too great to allow the transporter to be used. A shuttle would take too long, even if anyone dared to pilot one down in such turbulence. There was no escape that way.

The hunt was very close on their heels now. She could hear them crashing through the bushes – perhaps they had some kind of pet that was able to track them by smell or some other sense, in the way that Captain Archer's canine could have done, but she could not bring herself even now to turn the pistol on the dozens of pursuers. She would not be able to keep them all at bay, there were too many of them, and using the weapon repeatedly would focus their attention on it far too closely. After the one use she needed it for she could hurl it out into the channel in the hope that it would be lost. _Goodbye, Trip. _His face looking down at her was drawn with exhaustion and confusion, but the trust in it tore at her. She turned to slip into his arms again and raised her face for his kisses; they both pretended that it was the drug on his part and the knowledge of farewell on hers. As their lips met passionately, her left hand slid into her pocket for the phase pistol. He would never open his eyes again to see his death coming.

"STAY RIGHT WHERE YOU ARE!" The loudspeaker was almost as loud as the thunder and infinitely more shocking. A single headlight of astonishing brilliance ignited at the front end of the wedge of rock, transfixing the figures converging on the entwined officers. The voice was unmistakably English, but it needed no translator to convey a world of menace.

"Quickly!" The Vulcan broke away from the embrace and helped her companion hobble painfully across the stones towards the shuttlepod. Behind them a few bolder souls than most made some tentative movement after them. In response the shuttle's engines woke to life, building to an almost animal howl. It was too much. The crowd broke and ran, dodging in among the trees and bushes with cries of terror that the God had come to punish them all. They fled headlong towards the camp, and it was questionable if even that proximity would be considered safe enough. The chances were that it would be long into the night before the last of them stopped running.

An angular gleam of more subdued light showed on the side of the 'rock' as the shuttlepod's door opened. "Anybody want a lift?" asked the quiet, glad voice of Captain Archer, who was already reaching out to give them any help they might need.

"I believe we require one with some urgency, Captain." She felt the commander's bewilderment as the drug in his system battled against returning reality. He lurched to his knees, grabbing at the lip of the door, and she knew that there was one thing she could do to protect his dignity now. Her fingers slid almost tenderly to the base of his neck. By the time he recovered consciousness Dr Phlox would have him safe in Sickbay and his condition would be stabilised.

"Trip? What's wrong?" Archer's voice sharpened with alarm as he saw his friend fall.

"There is nothing to fear, Captain. I believe the commander has only fainted." She lifted the unconscious chief engineer in her arms and hoisted him into the shuttlepod. "The past couple of hours have been extremely stressful to him, but apart from an injury to his ankle I believe he is generally unharmed." She stepped up into the hatchway herself. "Is there any news of Ensign McKenna?"

"He survived. He'll be on the sick list for a while, but Phlox says he'll pull through." A huge grin of relief spread across the captain's face as he closed the door, and he clasped her shoulders in an unusual demonstration of welcome: he was always aware of her dislike of casual physical contact. "There are some emergency blankets in one of the lockers. Get yourself out of those wet clothes before you catch your death. We promise not to peek." He released her and began to manoeuvre Tucker's unconscious form into the recovery position. "And get one for Trip while you're at it. He's frozen. This is some faint."

"Welcome back, Sub-commander." Malcolm was at the helm. His expression was studiedly bland. The headlights had been full on, and he had excellent eyesight; but he also knew when to keep his mouth shut.

"Lieutenant Reed. I am surprised to see you."

"Just a short hop, Sub-commander. Ensign Mayweather brought us down to Shuttlepod One and he's flying it back now that the storm's blowing itself out. He apparently thought I could be trusted with this one over a short distance – just in case you might need any help."

She inclined her head as she brought out the warm blankets. "You came in what I believe is called 'the nick of time'."

"You've been to too many movie nights." Archer grinned, taking one of the coverings from her to drape over his friend's body. "Get us out of here, Malcolm."

As the familiar note of the engines accompanied the smooth lift of the craft away from the river bed, T'Pol quietly stripped off her saturated robe and suit. Now she finally had time to inspect the wounds in her leg. Perhaps it was as well that she had never had the opportunity to do so before. The bite was inflamed and the swelling below it was increasing. She trusted that Dr Phlox would have time to spare from his supervision of Ensign McKenna's recovery to quickly put right whatever damage the tree-dweller had inflicted. Her duties would be extremely difficult to carry out with maximum efficiency if she were to be confined to Sickbay for any length of time.

The blanket was warm from proximity to the engines. There was something almost voluptuous in the sensation of its softness enfolding her bare body that brought back disturbing memories of Commander Tucker's arms enfolding her. Other associated memories must be sternly repressed. She had done what logic dictated had to be done – no more, no less. She had rescued a valued Starfleet officer. Enterprise needed its chief engineer, despite his unfortunate addiction to a dessert with an unhealthy sugar content and a worse one for the flesh of a singularly unattractive fish cooked in saturated fat, not to mention his lamentable taste in entertainment. Crew morale would have been badly affected by his loss. Certainly Captain Archer would have mourned him deeply.

And she herself? How would his loss have affected her? Was it only the effect it would have had on the efficient running of the ship? Could it be something to do with that impertinent but oddly endearing grin that she had somehow grown accustomed to; could it be something to do with how extremely blue his eyes were, and how utterly natural it had felt during those seconds the two of them had stood entwined, kissing as though the rest of the world had ceased to exist?

She glanced up almost furtively at the two other men sharing the shuttlepod with her. Lieutenant Reed was busy with the controls, balancing the craft's flight on the still lively winds as he made for a clear landing site out on the plain where they could wait for half an hour or so until the turbulence in the upper atmosphere subsided a bit further. Ensign Mayweather had been confident enough to brave it, but Reed was not quite so experienced at the helm and had no wish to endanger himself and his passengers for want of a little patience. Captain Archer was still watching Trip, keeping the blanket tucked around him and waiting for him to regain consciousness. Possibly he suspected that this was indeed no ordinary faint. At some point she was going to have to report to him on what had happened down here during those missing hours. He was intelligent and perceptive; he would probably guess that she was not telling him everything, but somehow she could not face dragging these murky uncertainties out into the clear light of an official report.

A great deal would depend on how much Commander Tucker recalled when he revived. With any luck almost everything would have gone from his mind with the drug. Even if he did remember anything of significance, surely he would understand that she had been as much a victim of circumstance as he had himself. He was not unintelligent, nor ungentlemanly. He would not take advantage. Hopefully he would never refer to any of it again. Possibly he would even just dismiss it as just another episode in his varied love life, she thought, and was surprised by how painful the idea was. But painful or not, that was probably the best way to deal with it. A past incident. Over and closed.

But his eyes were _astonishingly_ blue.

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><p><strong>All reviews and comments received with gratitude!<strong>


	8. Chapter 8

Thanks to everyone who has been kind enough to comment!

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><p>"A most intriguing creature. And quite deadly, of course, if not removed." Dr Phlox held up a clear specimen jar and studied its contents admiringly. "An extremely sophisticated parasite. It burrows into the muscular tissue, breaks into the veins and uses them as a pathway to the rest of the body. In time it has tendrils into all the major organs, and the host ... simply starves to death. By which time the fetus is sufficiently developed to eat its way out, and with luck it has the rest of the body to feed on while it finishes its growth."<p>

"You needn't sound so enthusiastic about it, Phlox. That thing was eating my science officer." Captain Archer's gaze was considerably less admiring.

"No real harm done, Captain. She'll be over it in a day or two. I ordered her to stay in her quarters and rest at least until tomorrow, but she insisted on having the duty rosters to check so her time wasn't wasted." The Denobulan smiled benevolently. "And Commander Tucker is back on duty already, though it will be a while before his ankle is fully healed. I understand that someone who wished to remain safely anonymous deposited a stuffed toy parrot in his uniform when it came back from cleaning. There is apparently some literary reference with which I am unfortunately unacquainted."

Archer grinned. He was familiar with the writings of R. L. Stevenson and the parrot that had been Long John Silver's constant companion. He glanced across to the other side of Sickbay, where Malcolm was giving his subordinate the update on events down on the planet. McKenna still looked tired, but he'd bled half to death before they'd got him stabilised and it would take a while before his body recovered from the trauma. He was also looking a lot more relieved after debriefing on events that had led to Trip's kidnapping; in hindsight the landing party had made some fairly serious security blunders, but evidently Malcolm had given him at least partial absolution, perhaps believing that his injuries could be regarded as having been a more effective lesson than any official reprimand would have been. The tactical officer would have dealt with the issue as soon as possible, rather than leaving his second to wonder what might be the verdict when he returned to duty and made a full and formal report; Reed had a reputation as a stern taskmaster, and worry would not have been beneficial during the recovery process.

"I should add that the news of Ensign McKenna's survival contributed greatly to Commander Tucker's swift recovery," added the doctor, following the captain's look. "Apparently he had believed that Mr McKenna had been killed outright in a brutal and unprovoked attack. I believe his exact words were, 'Remind me not to cheat that guy in a poker game'."

"He must have had 'the luck of the Irish', and no mistake. And of course having you on his case was the other half of the charm."

Phlox smiled and nodded. "All part of the service, Captain. I'll copy you my medical reports in due course."

"I'll look forward to it."

And talking of reports, the captain reflected as he left Sickbay, he hadn't had a chance to talk over events fully with the other two members of the landing party yet. It had been far more important to get them to the decon unit in Sickbay and get them treated. If Phlox had made any specific diagnosis about Trip's 'faint' he'd kept it to himself, and doctor-patient confidentiality in this case had to be respected. The main thing was that the engineer had come around, though he'd had to be sedated for a time while some equally unspecified ailment was dealt with. The chances were that if pressed about it the doctor would smile beatifically and come out with some lengthy and extremely obscure terminology that did more to conceal than to reveal what was actually going on; the captain was reasonably sure that if anything had happened that affected Trip's wellbeing or his capacity to perform his duties Phlox would inform him of it as a matter of course, so he forbore to press. He didn't expect the medical reports he would duly receive to be particularly illuminating on that score either, so he wouldn't be snatching them off the computer in search of enlightenment.

He went first to T'Pol's quarters. Her prompt response suggested she hadn't been sleeping, though after surgery he'd have expected her to be a little drowsy for a while; Phlox certainly wouldn't have released her to return to her own cabin if he'd had any doubts about her recovery.

She was sitting in front of a candle in her usual meditating posture as the door opened. He hesitated in the doorway. He knew that daily meditation was a vital part of her mental routine, and after what had certainly seemed from the evidence to have been a traumatic experience down there on the planet she must be even more in need of regaining her mental composure than usual. "Am I disturbing you? I'll come back another time..."

"There is no need, Captain. I am perfectly recovered." Something about her face gave the lie to that statement; intuitively he knew that something had changed. The incredible scene lit up by the shuttlepod's headlights flashed into his mind again – T'Pol the Ice Maiden locked in his chief engineer's arms, and whatever had been going on between them, it certainly hadn't been attempted rape. What had been the most bizarre thing about the whole of it was the fact that her free hand had been stealing out of her gown with a phase pistol in it, and it hadn't looked like she was going to use it to defend them against the aliens pursuing them. He was still trying to fit that into the picture.

He came into the room and stood studying her. She returned his gaze calmly, evidently waiting for him to tell her what he'd come for. "I haven't had a chance to sit down with you and talk over what happened down there," he said at last. "I don't suppose Trip will have the full picture. Phlox said he'd been drugged, so I guess there'll be a few questions he can't answer. I know you're under doctor's orders, so I'm not making this a formal report. But if there's anything you need to talk about – on or off the record – you know where my Ready Room is."

"I appreciate that, Captain." For an instant he caught a glimpse of something that looked perilously close to anguish in the deep brown eyes, then it disappeared as swiftly as it had come; the Ice Maiden froze over again. "But I think it is important that I meditate alone for a while. That will do much to restore my efficiency before I return to duty. I will complete a formal report during my next watch."

"Whatever you need," he said softly. "I'll leave you in peace, then." The door closed between them; out in the corridor he stood still and irresolute for a moment, conscious of having somehow unwillingly failed her. But the reserve in the Vulcan ran very deep. Even now he was not sure that forcibly invading it wouldn't do more harm than good, and until he was sure that he could help her he dared not risk it. He hoped very much that sooner or later she would take up the offer and come to his Ready Room; he hoped even more that just knowing she had a shoulder to lean on – and even, if needs be, to cry on – would help her to cope. But his rank pips didn't entitle him to barge in where he wasn't wanted, and right now T'Pol was exercising her right to deal with her problems in her own way. He had to leave her to it.

Engineering was the usual brisk and busy place. Trip was in his usual position at the main board, monitoring the readings and listening to a report from one of his juniors with what looked like half his attention, though he interrupted with a question as soon as something didn't seem quite right. Archer stood watching him with an affectionate smile. Possibly the Chief Engineer was unaware of the presence of a gaudy toy parrot sitting on the guard rail behind him, secured there with duct tape.

"Everything OK here?" He ascended the steps and dropped a hand on to Trip's shoulder by way of expressing his pleasure at seeing him restored to normal and back at work again.

"Everything just fine, Cap'n. Ready to go just as soon as we finish installin' that hyrellanium plating." Tucker seemed to be his usual cheerful self again, back where he was happiest, fine-tuning the performance of his precious warp engines.

"When you're through here I'd appreciate a report on what happened down on the planet. As full a report as you can manage," Archer added a little drily, seeing a slightly evasive look come down across Trip's face. He moved closer and lowered his voice. "You don't have to include _all _the details."

"Sure. Fine." He certainly hadn't forgotten absolutely everything of what had happened down there. That was plain. It was also obvious that he knew that his captain was entitled to some kind of explanation. "Cap'n, I don't know how it is between – me and T'Pol," he said in a low, strained voice. "I know we're goin' to have to talk it over sooner or later. But I thought I'd give her a while to settle down again, sort herself out a bit. Till then, well – I'd sooner not say much about it."

Archer nodded. "I can understand that." He paused. "I hope you can both get through this. She risked her life to get you out of there."

"Phlox told me. Don't worry, I'll thank her nicely. I'll even promise never to kiss her again, if that's what she wants." Trip was not nearly as adept as T'Pol at hiding anguish; his head dropped briefly. "I can't promise never to think about it – I can't promise never to wish I could remember every minute of it. But if that's the way it's gotta be, I'll have to live with it."

The captain's hand dropped on to his shoulder again, and in a moment his face came up with something approximating calm restored to it. "I guess I'll go through those tests again, Cap'n. At least _Enterprise_ needs me."

"She probably needs you more than she needs me. I'll be on the bridge." He descended the steps again and headed for the turbo-lift, heartache heavy on him. They had the hyrellanium, extracted without event that morning and even now being refined for use; but the price that they had had to pay for it seemed to be far heavier than any of them had expected.

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><p>"The hyrellanium plating is restored to full capacity, and the crew are returning the plants to the hydro area," reported T'Pol, emerging from the turbolift late the next day. "The ore was of exceptional quality. Should the planet's inhabitants ever decide to join the interstellar community they would have a valuable trading resource in it."<p>

"Can't see that happening anytime soon." Trip was leaning at the tactics station, arms folded; he'd evidently been discussing events with Malcolm, who was wearing a faintly incredulous grin, plainly still suspecting even now that he was being spun a yarn ('_Half woman and half lion? Oh for Heaven's sake! They'll tell me next they found a gryphon as well!')_ and sooner or later somebody was going to burst out laughing. "I guess they like things fine the way they are."

"So we're OK to get on with the voyage now?" The captain spoke absently; he was leaning back in his chair, staring at the viewscreen on which the planet turned slowly against the backdrop of the stars. 'The Great Dance', she'd called it, he remembered silently and with a little painful smile, studying with newly aware eyes the huge burst of the globular cluster. It certainly was a lot more lyrical than 'NGC 6121'.

"Certainly." The Vulcan took her seat at her work console and shot a short but keenly assessing look at her commanding officer. Evidently what she saw reassured her, for she bent her head and became absorbed in the readouts on the panel in front of her.

"That Shiránnor was one amazing woman." Trip shook his head, acute enough to guess where Archer's thoughts were lingering.

"Sure was." Travis looked at the viewscreen too. The land mass where the lion-woman hunted was passing towards the night-shadows again; he wondered where she was now, and whether she was looking up at the stars in hope of catching a glimpse of the _Enterprise _among them.

"Pity she couldn't have stayed with us a bit longer. Just so we could have found out a bit more. Though I wasn't keen on her 'friends'." Tucker's gaze had moved subtly to T'Pol; he was careful not to think too deeply about some of the things that had happened down on the planet's surface because there was no way he could contrive an excuse to walk around the bridge folded up like a jack-knife. Nevertheless, he remembered some extremely vivid details of about what had taken place during their escape from the camp. The episode had given him ideas to which he'd have to give a lot more consideration – if only in the privacy of his quarters. Getting close to T'Pol was a challenge that ranked alongside the courtship of praying mantises; she was _more_ than capable of chewing his head off. But hell, if it meant that someday there just might be a chance of reprising one of those clinches or to experience sharing a hot shower with her for real – well, he hadn't come into space to play it safe.

"I think you have to know when to hold and when to fold." Archer smiled a little sadly. He knew he would almost certainly never come back to this world; his report to Starfleet would recommend that ships avoid it, its primitive culture being too liable to damage from contact with more advanced civilisations. He'd bent the rules by scaring the wits out of the bird-people with the shuttlepod, though he consoled himself with the thought that the darkness and their own superstition would have prevented them from actually realising what they'd seen. A great part of him believed with honest distaste that maybe exposure to more democratic ways would do them good, but whether he agreed with the way their civilisation had evolved or not, he'd already had to face the fact that he wasn't out here to play God. And yet, another part of him would always remember that unique experience of being known and accepted and – yes, perhaps even loved, at a depth that probably nothing he would encounter for the rest of his life would ever match. It was a sensation that was as addictive as any drug. Perhaps she'd understood that. At any rate, he was somehow going have to learn how to live without it.

He drew a deep breath. There was still the mission: all the worlds in the galaxy to explore. Maybe in time the aching void where that sense of contact had been would heal; maybe things would work out somehow for the best between his two officers, caught in a difficult situation for which the guidebooks had never been written. In the meantime, he had a ship to run. "Take us out of orbit, Travis!"

The End.

(Though there is an epilogue!)

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><p><strong>All reviews and comments received with gratitude!<strong>


	9. The Epilogue

The vast walled bulk of Thervanil was black against the sunrise in the west as Shiránnor padded wearily up the final stretch of road at last.

She did not know why she had been directed here to the city. The guards at the Great Gate were relaxed, keeping only a nominal watch over early arrivals. A lookout was posted above the gatehouse – apparently a deputation from some minor king or other was expected shortly, and though her arrival had been unlooked-for it was not unusual enough to cause any concern. The soldiers on duty greeted her with the customary respect, but had no message for her. If something had been wrong, the city would have been on alert, and as one of the Daughters she would have been asked to attend the Imperial Palace at her earliest convenience as a matter of course. Nevertheless, the silent prompting she had experienced had not been an idle one. Sooner or later, there would be a reason for her to be here.

As she made her way to the temple to introduce herself to the priestesses there and claim their ready hospitality, she found herself thinking yet again of the events that had befallen out on the Great Plains to the north. All the long journey had been taken up with remembering and wondering, and still she could not get the marvel from her mind. A people who journeyed among the stars!

A broad paved square lined with elegant trees gave her a chance to glance skyward yet again, but the Great Dance was fading fast as the amber and apricot light strengthened, flooding across the heavens. At least the weather had improved after the start of her journey. On that second day, when she was out in the open without shelter of any kind, the arrival of a second storm had caught her so much by surprise that it had taken a certain amount of restraint during her period of prayer to refrain from demanding rather irreverently of the Mother of Storms what She meant by it. She had sat immobile in the downpour, too tired and full of meat to bother searching for cover that would be inadequate at best, but this storm, too, had been brief. It had passed grumbling into the east and the stars had come out again in all their wonder and beauty. Far off in the distance she had seen a silver object streaking towards the heavens, and the thought of it even now made her purr deep in her throat even as the memory of those lost friends tightened it.

The encounter with the other-worlders had perplexed and thrilled and distressed her in almost equal measure. She would have loved to have stayed with them for far longer, satisfying a curiosity that she knew was mutual, but the awareness of the irreconcilable differences between their world and hers had grown so strong that she had decided that it was more important to salvage a friendship than to go on revealing things that would in all likelihood only deepen the visitors' incomprehension and quite possibly turn it to disgust, for they had disapproved of Kerriel's way of life. She could feel that as surely as though they had shouted it, no matter how they tried not to show it. However understandable that was, she had perceived it with sadness and bewilderment. It puzzled her that Captain Archer had been unable to see that Vede'hanax stood in the same relationship to his subjects as he did to his crew, placed above them to keep order and protect them. The God had placed the Emperor where he was; the other-worlders had definitely had a problem with that fact, but was not the end result the same? Good order was essential in any civilisation if people were to raise their families in peace and security.

It all boiled down – she nodded to herself, having thought the matter out almost incessantly since parting from them – to the inexplicable fact that their world had no right relationship with its Gods. Touching the captain's mind, she had experienced something of the horrible void within which these people apparently existed: unloved at the deepest part of their being. Almost all of the others she sensed were in the same condition to some degree or other. One or two seemed to have some tenuous idea of their value to a God of sorts, but some were, in Skair terms, virtually emotional cripples. She was at once profoundly relieved and desperately sorry that the Lathaichan had not been one of the landing party. A close encounter with the ship's warlord would have been traumatic, but the healer in her longed to have had the chance to somehow find a way to reach out to that isolated and suffering spirit and comfort its loneliness.

Loneliness. Yes. The power within her had stirred strongly when she was with these lonely people, so strongly that she wondered if there might even have been moments when it spilled over into something even they might have been able to perceive. She could sense a terrible darkness ahead of them, but she had no right to speak of it: she was no Seer, charged with messages from the Goddess. Two of those she had met had the refuge they would need in each other, if they chose to recognise it. The third was young, and had a blithe spirit from which trouble would eventually evaporate like raindrops from a stone warmed by the morning sun. But the fourth...

She feared for Jonathan Archer.

**The End.**

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><p><strong>All reviews and comments received with gratitude!<strong>


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